


The Name of Her Heart

by iNiGmA



Category: Kingkiller Chronicles - Patrick Rothfuss
Genre: Abortion, Action/Adventure, Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Death, Character Study, Depression, Drama, Drug Addiction, F/M, Gen, Loss of Pregnancy, Minor Denna/Kvothe Canon relationship, Molar Pregnancy, PTSD, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Suicide, Trigger Warnings that Contain Spoilers Follow, Underage - Freeform, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 112,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25409794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iNiGmA/pseuds/iNiGmA
Summary: Denna would never have taken the resin by choice. But that night on the stones with Kvothe, it's the one thing that makes her speak true. The only thing that makes her remember. But the cost is steep. The sea of memory turbulent. And some secrets are heavy enough to drown.
Relationships: Denna/Kvothe (Kingkiller Chronicles)
Comments: 128
Kudos: 23





	1. Under the Influence

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I'm only playing in Pat's beautiful playground.
> 
> Hey there, guys. Last October, I took a break from my Harry Potter epic to write a short one-shot for Denna because the scene of her and Kvothe on the greystones that night would not leave me. Nine months later, this story has entirely taken over my life, and here we are. NOHH is complete at 30 chapters, and will be posted biweekly. This story comes with several trigger warnings, which may contain spoilers and are listed in the additional tags. Thank you for reading. I hope you're all staying safe. If you need an escape from the world, I hope you find it here. And for anyone wondering, yes, I will now be returning to work on the TP sequel, which is still happening! :)
> 
> And huge thanks to [ MournfulSeverity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MournfulSeverity), [ Hegemone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hegemone/), and [ Farbautidottir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farbautidottir) for all the betaing. And for putting up with my crazy. You guys are amazing.  
> And also a huge thanks to [ StephRametta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StephRametta/) for the amazing cover art! <3

I'm coming undone. Splitting at the seams. The edges all blurring together. My mind is running wild, slipping into crevices where the shadows loom. It's there, in those shadows, that the denner takes hold of me. It's there that it latches on, pulls out my secrets, pulls out the thoughts I keep hidden away under lock and key and propels them into the soft night.

I speak. I can't stop.

The cursed denner; it's to blame. I know it. _It is._

Isn't it?

Oh Gods. Merciful Tehlu.

Maybe it's only given me courage. These words pouring out of me with my control shred to pieces. Is it the denner? Or is it only me?

"You always know what you're doing," I whisper. The words are warm. Fluttery, like butterflies. They send shivers down my arms as they reach for the freedom of the sky. How long have I held on to them? I'm afraid to speak them now, and yet I've never been more brave.

He looks at me, his hair aflame even in the night, his eyes reflecting the glow of the fire below. His eyes pull more from me. More words. More heart.

Men. They are always taking. Always. And I usually keep my heart chained tight. But tonight the denner has hold of me, and I can't stop. Not for all the world.

"You're important, with your green eyes looking at me like I mean something."

I've forgotten how it feels to mean something to someone. It's been ages and years since I last felt a hand on my arm that wanted to give instead of taking.

_Love_. I want to think I've known it. I want to believe that truth — that the thing I'm searching for exists. Even if he… even if he doesn't…

"It's okay that you have better things to do," I add softly, nodding with understanding. I'm not sure my head moves, really, but the intent is there. More than anything, I understand the turning of the world. Hope is a luxury I haven't allowed myself to afford. Not since—

"It's enough that I get you sometimes," I breathe, forcing the memories aside. "Once in a while. I know I'm lucky for that"— my voice falters —"to get you just a little."

His eyes flicker to mine for just a moment. They are deep. Unwavering. Tired and weary like river stones worn away. Full of secrets layered upon secrets with the edges too sharp to touch. I told him I could read them just that morning, but in the end I know nothing. Whatever they're whispering now, their voice is lost in the wind.

He gives me a nod and glances away, staring out over the hillside. Is he searching for the draccus, or is it my words he's running from?

And what would he want of me after all, when I'm all used and soiled and broken inside.

I shiver, trembling violently against his arm. It's not the cold so much as the futility of it all. Even here, under the open sky with my heart laid bare before him, I can't seem to touch his at all.

"I know you don't think of me…"

What is it I was hoping to find? Gods, I've learned my lesson, haven't I? He cares, perhaps. There is something there, I can see that much. But his dreams are bigger. Too big to be held down. He is like the wind, passing by me in random patterns, even swirling around me for small moments in time before blowing away into the open air with nothing but the breeze on my skin to remember him by. Unchainable.

_What is he searching for?_

"I think about you all the time, Denna," he says, and his voice is so placating, it cuts. I might have no more than one suit of clothes to my name and I might be lost here in a mess of my own making, but I haven't yet sunk so low as to ask for pity.

"Don't patronise me," I snap, my voice cross. And then I sink into self-doubt again. I'm projecting. It isn't his fault he doesn't love me. This is what comes of hope. Of expectations.

"You don't think of me like that," I add, my voice softer now. "That's fine." I keep my words steady, though my heart cracks just a little. I think of the girl in the Eolian, with her arms around his neck and her mouth close enough for kissing. Beautiful as all the world.

"But if you're cold too, you could come over here and put your arms around me." The hope is there in my tone, naked and fleeting and buried so deep he can't see. Half a loaf. Gods, I'll take a quarter loaf now. A sliver even, just to feel the warmth of his touch, if only for a moment.

Pathetic.

The denner is sapping away at all my strength; at all the self restraint I built up through the years. Here, wrapped in a thin blanket and the dark, cold night, I'm falling to pieces.

"Just a little." My words are hardly more than a whisper in the wind.

There is the barest pause, enough to send cold dread through my heart, and then, in the empty silence, he shifts closer. His arms reach out, wrapping around me. I feel the tension slip away, melt into the greystone below me, as if it were a lodenstone and I was sheathed in iron.

"That's nice," I whisper, letting my body relax into his arms. He's warm, like fire burning through the cold night. "I feel like I've always been cold."

I fall into silence, letting my eyes drift to the north. But my mind has drifted even further. It's falling through the shackles of the intervening years. They have hardened me, certainly. Cut me into pieces that have healed with crooked scars.

When was the last time… that I haven't been cold?

Not the simple cold of a long winter spent under the eaves with nothing but a thin blanket for warmth, nor the cold of an empty stomach that chills your entire soul. No, it's the absence of warmth that haunts me; the type of warmth a body makes when it stands firm beside me, cloaked in love.

_Love._

There it is again. When is the last time I knew its face? Felt its outline? I think I've been looking for it ever since… ever since it all fell apart.

It's a dark place, the memory. I don't go there often. I bury it in my mind so I don't have to see it. I hide it in the corners of vast rooms swathed in rich fabrics. In the embraces of men I let into my arms but not my heart. In the names I wrap around me in layers so thick that sometimes I nearly forget who I am.

Sometimes, it slips out of the shadows as I vanish into the night. Pulls at me. But I push it aside, always. There's enough pain in it all without remembering.

It hurts — this path I've chosen. But this pain is easier. Simpler. This pain I can bear.

But the denner pulls at me, breaks down the walls in my mind until the memories flicker. Her smile. Easy laughter. A warm hand grasping mine.

But can I really blame the denner? I suspect _he's_ the one who makes me remember. _Denna_ , he calls me now. She was a sweet girl. Innocent. Too good for this world.

I had hidden her. Put her into that box in my mind along with everything else. But she slipped out of that darkness when he came. And now when he's beside me, so is she. Kvothe and Denna. They go together, like a harmony. When we're together, I am Denna… and Denna is me. She is the best part of myself, but she always has been. It's no surprise. No lie.

Denna. She was wild, and sweet, and brave, and she took what she wanted, and gave back twice that in return. She was all heart, with love bursting out at every moment. She taught me everything.

How to live. How to laugh. How to breathe without falling.

And in the end… she taught me how everything could break.

It's no wonder I still can't pick up the pieces. Without her, the job is too big for me alone.


	2. Denna

My earliest memory of Denna was meteoric. It wasn't anything perfect or overly sweet. It wasn't beautiful, bathed with the rose-shaded brush of my youth. Which isn't to say that my childhood wasn't rose-shaded or delightful. It was. And I remember it fondly as such. But like every blissful beginning, it was filled with darker moments, and this was one of the first.

I reckon I was around four. When you're that young, all you can remember are sporadic moments, standing out among a nondescript sea of blurred-together days. And from this slate grey sea, I remember her face, leaning over me with terror burning through her eyes. Her long dark hair was hanging down, the curls brushing against my face as she shook me.

"Breathe!" she pleaded, hovering over me. "Please, please, please…"

Her terrified face was swimming, flashing in and out of focus through the tightness in my chest. I remember the cold, so deep it was beyond shaking. It was creeping up my limbs, pulling me into sleepy silence. But she was above me, screaming, her voice cutting through me, sharp as knives. I know that it was Mother and the doctor who came running and forced air into my lungs until they could draw breath on their own, but to this day I know it was Denna who saved me. Who kept me alive long enough, until they came. That is how I always knew her. Heroes come in all shapes and sizes after all. They don't need a sword, or manly bravado. They don't need to take on a pig with a folding knife and one boot. A ten-year-old girl can be a hero too, armed only with the power of her heart and anxious words. And from the time I was old enough to remember, Denna was my hero.

We grew up in Renere, the capital of Vintas, which is about as city as a city can get. It was just the four of us — me, Denna, Mother, and Father. Father owned an apothecary, and Mother helped out and watched us, and tended the garden in her spare time. She had rather a green thumb, and a particular liking for tomatoes, which she picked fresh and ate like apples before even leaving the yard.

And when she didn't do that, she sang. Beautifully. Like spring dawning after a frozen winter.

It was a happy childhood. Denna and I spent most of it playing, even though she was six years older and I often had to pause in our reckless sprints so that my broken lungs could breathe. She laughed hard and played rough and didn't care for stares or whispers. She stole Father's old pants and stitched them down until they fit like her own, and then wore them stubbornly with her hair pulled up and her expression set in defiance. She was brave and daring and kind, and her antics made me giggle endlessly.

When she wasn't playing or running around, she taught me. Numbers, letters, and more practical things like cooking and housework. We would wash the dishes at the sink or root around Mother's garden, singing songs or reciting scenes from Daeonica or Felward's Falling. She insisted I was to have a well-rounded education.

"You can't live in the capital and not be a proper young lady," she claimed every so often. Which made me laugh like mad, because she was as far from a "proper young lady" as it was possible to get. I knew it for truth because she ran faster than all the boys on our street, beat them handily at tag, and taught me to climb my first tree. And my second. And then lied boldly about our many bruises.

But Mother and Father humored her. They were sweet, and fair, and kind. They never shouted at us or raised their hands in anger. They believed in talking things through; in logic and understanding. The biggest punishment they could offer us was their disappointment, but when they _did_ show it, it weighed heavy as all the world. We did everything we could to avoid it. There were few things we knew that were worse than disappointing them, but when we inevitably did, the quiet words they bestowed upon us were firm and fair. And when the sting of them faded, they were always there, waiting. Full of love. They were like a safety net, raising us up and letting us be brave.

Mother had the gentlest heart that I have ever known. She was soft-spoken and shy; a true introvert who liked to escape to the imagined worlds of a thousand books and songs. But while she found making friends difficult, the ones she did have were beyond lucky to know her. I didn't meet many of them, for Mother had grown up in Anilin on the outer edge of the Ceald, and it was a terribly long way off. But I had peeked through enough of the letters she stored in the drawer beside her bed to know they loved her dearly.

Mother was the youngest of nine siblings, most of them girls, and while Grandfather was a respected tailor and made enough for them to get by on, she grew up in a time when opportunities were scarce. Especially for girls. Even more so than today.

Grandfather and Grandmother had raised and educated her to the best of their abilities. The children of rigid Yllish sheep farmers, they had left their dying homeland in search of greener pastures, finally settling in Anilin, where they fought hard to carve out futures for their children. But while they had love aplenty, they had only two sons and not talents enough for seven dowries. My uncle Allard, who was the oldest, married a respectable Cealdish girl and took over the family business. My other uncle Tanner, who had no such prospects, left to join the church, Tehlu hold him. But even with the dowry from Allard's wife to sustain them, the family still struggled. And there were no such avenues open for the girls.

Mother, who was a talented singer and musician, often played her rebec on street corners for pennies to bring home. But female performers were seldom wanted back then without a respectable family or patron behind them… and there were few places of any import who sought out the services of a tailor's daughter, no matter how sweet her voice. With her options limited, she resigned herself to a future as a serving girl. She had tracked down a reputable inn that would be happy to have her once she turned of age. They even promised to let her play once a span and keep half the earnings.

But shortly after she turned fifteen, everything changed.

There was a call from the Lackless Palace in North Renere — a call so grand and majestic that it reached to all the four corners. Aculeus Lackless, fifth in the line of royal succession of Vintas and a great patron of the arts, was seeking new musicians and performers to keep on at the city estate. Talented young musicians, singers, poets, and performers from across the four corners were welcome to come, stay, and try their luck for a revered spot in the palace's Arts Consortium. And both men and women were welcome, for Aculeus had two young daughters and wished to build the kind of world his girls would be proud to inherit — especially Netalia, who would succeed him and carry on the Lackless name. The only requirement was one of age — no more than thirty, and no younger than fifteen. They were looking for neither old, unpliable hearts nor children.

It was as if Tehlu himself had smiled down upon Mother and offered her this opportunity — a fact seemingly driven home by the local Tehlan priest making the announcement in their church, and then seeking out Grandfather directly to make the recommendation.

Renere was so far from Anilin, it might as well have been a world away. Mother would have to leave behind everything and everyone she knew. But still, it was as good an opportunity as she was ever likely to get. So after much consideration and many tearful goodbyes, she left Anilin behind, armed only with her rebec, three dresses made of Grandfather's finest fabrics, and all the money they could afford to spare. And Grandmother's wedding ring — a beautiful work of knotted silver topped with a pale blue smokestone.

"It's held together with binding knots," Grandmother told her gently as she hugged her goodbye. "So that we'll always be connected."

And then Mother was off, alone on the road to Renere.

There are countless stories that could be told of the next year of her life. Stories of her travels and of her time in the Lackless court. I could weave them into song and accompany it on the half-harp Kvothe made me dream of… but, really, who'd want to hear them? And at any rate, they aren't relevant to the memory that I spend most of my time trying to forget. Except, perhaps, to say that if it had all gone differently, I wouldn't know this sadness I carry always in my heart.

I wouldn't be. So I wouldn't know anything at all.

In the end, all that needs to be said of Mother's time in court is that it wasn't for her. Oh, she tried. She sang and played her rebec with entirely the right level of talent and decorum. She was brilliant — as good as they got. And for all that, she was modest and polite and perfectly well-mannered. If all she needed was skill, she would have been the best court musician there was. But the competition was fierce, and the palace was full of gossip and people both catty and harsh. There was no true friendship to be found there, no authenticity. She told me later that it was an act, the court, with everyone simply playing their parts. A show, even when the curtain was down. And she wasn't meant to live on that sort of stage forever.

I cannot imagine how difficult it was for Mother, with her sweet disposition and gentle heart, to live in that darkness after the shiny surface of the court broke to pieces to reveal the cruel currents underneath. She hated it. Hated every breath and every moment. But there was nowhere else for her to go. Returning to Anilin alone was an impossible journey. She didn't speak of it, and what she has told me about meeting Father has only ever been a sweet story of love. But looking back through the lens of my own darkness, perhaps meeting the young man at the apothecary saved more than simply her happiness. At least for a time.

Tehlu knows what she had been shopping for.

But it didn't take long for Mother and Father to fall in love. In eight span, they were married. In twelve, she was with child. And in another six months, Denna was born. Six years later, I joined her. Mother has often said that those were the happiest times of her life.

She raised us with love and kindness and songs. I picked them up as easily as breathing, but Denna was always hopeless.

"Just like your father," Mother told her often, laughing gently at her attempts.

And Denna truly was. It wasn't just that they both couldn't carry a tune to save their lives — and merciful Tehlu, they couldn't. When they tried to sing, they scared off the feral cats in the entire neighborhood. I _know_ , because I've seen them run. Though to their credit, both Denna and Father refused to be shamed into silence. Father was brave — brave enough to sing knowing he was terrible, or to smile at a girl who walked into the apothecary he was minding for his father wearing a rebec, a sad smile, and a suit of clothes well above his station, and ask her to accompany him to the park to split some bread, cheese, and fruit wine.

And Denna had inherited his boldness, his reckless sense of adventure, and his easy smile. She wanted to take everything the world was willing to give, and fight for what it wasn't. To live in the moment. And most of all, she wanted to know love — _real love._ Like Lady Netalia Lackless, who had run off with a trouper some years after Mother left the court, throwing the entire Lackless family into such scandal that they abandoned their city palace in favor of their estate in the northern farrel. They had not been seen in Renere for years, though rumors of Netalia's actions still swirled endlessly.

"So romantic!" Denna gushed, whenever the topic was brought up.

It was summer, nearly ten years after it had happened, and we were shelling peas in the small yard behind our house. She was waving her hands around in such exuberance that more peas were landing on the grass than in her bucket. "I want to fall in love just like that. A love so strong that I run off and Mother and Father have to disown me."

"You wouldn't!" I told her, aghast. In truth, it was impossible to take her seriously when she painted these scenarios with her vividly wild imagination, but even the idea of her running off like that sent a cold chill through me. Even though it was ridiculous, because Denna was a people pleaser and loved our parents more than anything — except maybe me — and the thought of her running off on us wasn't conceivable.

"Besides, Mother and Father would never disown you," I added, dropping my peas carefully into my own bucket. "You'd have to make him give up the trouper life and work in Father's apothecary instead."

"I suppose you're right," she said with a laugh, reaching down to root around for her lost peas. "I can't be responsible for that sort of travesty. Imagine! I'll have to settle for a city boy after all."

When she was 17 and I was 11, Denna did exactly that. She fell in love. With a boy from the city.

But, because it was Denna, he wasn't simply a 'boy from the city,' he was a boy from the _higher_ city.

Trenton, whom she sweetly called Trent, was a noble's son from the royal court of King Roderic Calanthis himself, and to this day, I cannot imagine how she met him. Certainly, the stories she has spun of him gallantly saving her from an out-of-control horse cart as she strolled along King's Court Road seem rather unlikely. But I _am_ looking back through the lens of perspective, after all.

For six span after she met him, I didn't see Denna very often. She would cook with me in the mornings, humming songs terribly out of tune, rush through her chores, and then skip off into the blooming spring with a dazzling lightness, often not returning until well past dinner.

Constantly leaving me to sulk.

"Denna isn't a child anymore," Mother told me gently toward the beginning of summer, as we set on a swinging seat overlooking the garden. She was sorting fledgling tomato plants while I read glumly through a reference book detailing currency conversion. "She loves you, but as you get older, your world grows bigger. And your relationships widen too. Meeting new people is part of growing up, little magpie."

"Denna's not meeting new people," I complained, pouting. "She's only ever meeting Trent." I rolled my eyes. "He's only one person, not many."

Mother offered me a kind smile. "Trent is new and exciting, but you'll always be her favorite. And in the meantime, you have me. Is spending some time with your mother so terribly boring that you would trade me away so fast?"

"No…" I said, feeling entirely backed into a corner. I tugged anxiously at my hair, pulling the short strands down to my shoulders. " _Of course not_ …"

"Good." She smiled. "Then help me plant these tomatoes, and then perhaps I'll let you try a hand at my rebec."

This improved my mood considerably, and when Denna came home that night, Mother sang Violet Bide while I accompanied her on the rebec to the best of my abilities, the bow slightly clumsy in my small fingers. I made more than a few mistakes, but we had a lovely time all the same. Father and Denna both clapped appreciatively when it was over, Denna wiping tears from her cheeks.

My wonderful little family… delightfully sweet and kind, forever frozen in this moment, unaware of the approaching darkness… If only I could lock them away like that forever. But tonight my heart speaks only the truth. I will walk right to the cracked and brittle edges of this memory. Right out onto the ice until it shatters beneath my feet. I can already see the darkness looming, gathering beyond the glowing windows of our small house, lit by warm firelight and warmed with gentle laughs. It is all gone already, so it shouldn't hurt as much the second time around.

_It shouldn't hurt as much._

Perhaps if I say it enough I'll believe it, before I plunge into the deep.


	3. Love Cuts Deepest

Summer was nearly over when Denna found me in the garden. I had been sitting behind the trellis that held the cucumber vines, watching the leaves begin to droop as brown spots snaked along their edges. Within another span, they would shrivel up and there would be no more cucumbers until next summer. They were still holding on for now, though. Seeking out those last bits of sunny warmth.

She climbed behind the trellis and settled beside me, fluffing out her layered skirts atop the grass. Once, it would have been odd to see Denna in a skirt, much less two, but I had grown used to it. The girl who insisted pants couldn't only be for boys had grown up into — as Mother called her — a fine young lady. Pants were only for children. I was still a child, though, so I wore her old ones as I pleased.

She seemed content to sit in silence, so I kept studying the leaves. There was a half-grown cucumber hanging down the back of the trellis with a drying flower on the end. I carefully flicked it off, watching the cucumber sway in the wind.

"That's going to be a good one," Denna said appreciatively. "Good haul this year."

"Like you'd know," I said, pulling my legs up to my chin. I looked decidedly ahead at the trellis and avoided her.

She sighed. "I'm sorry I haven't been around as much. I've missed you horribly."

"Uh huh," I said, still refusing to look at her.

"I have something for you," she said, her voice taking on a hopeful tone.

I glanced at her, unable to help myself. "A present?"

"I hope so," she said, smiling. She dug into her skirts to pull out a small cloth bundle and handed it to me.

I felt it carefully. It was soft, almost spongy. I tugged at the twine that held it together and pulled apart the wrappings: cloth first, then some sort of waxy paper. Inside was a small cake, slightly squished from its prolonged time in Denna's pocket, but delightful-looking all the same.

I smiled in spite of myself. It was a simple pleasure, but I adored sweets. It was the surest way to my heart. And I wasn't mad — not _really_. I just missed her. That was all. With that in mind, I took a giant bite of the cake and felt my face break into a blissful smile.

"Did you make this?" I asked around a mouthful of strawberry filling.

She nodded. "Trent snuck me into the palace kitchens. It was brilliant. Oh, they have the best things there, D! There are these machines for rolling the dough. Almost mechanical. Oh, you wouldn't believe…" She trailed off wistfully, a silly grin lighting up her face.

"Well of course," I said, licking the remainder of the frosting off the waxy paper. I was feeling rather resentful again, though I tried not to show it. "It's the palace, isn't it? Of _course_ it's the best there is. Nothing like what we commoners have in our kitchens…"

"I reckon Mother would love to see it," Denna said. "Oh, I should bring all of you!"

I laughed. "Like they'd ever let _us_ in the palace."

"Of course they will," Denna said, smiling again. She turned to me, taking hold of my arm as her eyes sought out mine. "They'll have to. Because, well, I'm with child."

She blushed and glanced down at her skirts as I stared at her, my mouth dropping open. The cake wrappings slipped down to the grass, small bits of frosting still trapped within the folds, but I barely noticed. Denna's words had shattered the entire world.

"Tehlu anyway," I gasped. A _child_. I couldn't believe it. I had _just_ gotten my first bloods three span ago, and I was now well-versed on the subject. Denna had been there to help me through that, at least. " _You aren't_!"

She smiled a little sheepishly. "I'm afraid I am."

I stared, realization sinking in. She was all grown up, just like Mother said. She was leaving. Leaving us. _Leaving me._ She would never stay here if she was carrying a nobleman's baby. She would move into the palace, with Trent. _She picked him._

We would never get back what we had.

I wanted to cry.

To my eleven-year-old credit, I didn't. Perhaps it was the lingering sweetness of the cake.

"So you'll be marrying Trent," I said dully.

She smiled again, the turning of her lips slightly bittersweet as she watched me. "Yes, we'll have to be married soon. I just…" She paused, her eyes dancing as they landed on mine. "I haven't told him yet. But he'll be pleased. He always talks of a family. Oh, D, how should I do it? Would you like to help me?"

It was a little heartbreaking to help Denna make real this very thing which would take her away from me, but I was desperate enough to cling to any time she offered, especially now that she was on the verge of leaving me behind. We sat there in the yard, running through potential scenarios, each wilder than the last. We could ask Mother for Grandmother's ring, and Denna could propose to Trent herself — on one knee and everything! — before giving him the news. We could dress Denna in silks like Ava from _The Ghost and the Goosegirl_ to show her claim to nobility, or we could act out the birth of Menda from _The Forging of the Path_ , because however kind Perial was, she had nothing on Denna. I would burst out from beneath her skirts for the representation, of course. I would be the aunt, and such things were my duty. Our ideas grew wilder and sillier, and we doubled over in laughter as we sat behind the trellis, lost in the wanderings of our imagination as the sun began to set on the last day of Before.

In the end, Denna chose to forgo the theatrics in favor of sweetness. More simple, she explained, as we planned out the day. More honest.

She met him in the gardens on the edge of Renere. The gardens were large; manicured in some places, and rather wild in others. That day, they shook in the slight wind, still mostly green but hovering on the edge of season, imbibing the air with the musky scent of early fall. Denna stood alone within the late summer flowers, the wind blowing her hair about as she waited. She was clutching a small clout fit for a newborn child, her fingers squeezing rather tightly against the soft cotton.

I stood hidden within a grove of trees several feet away, watching her with excitement. Despite the impending sense of change, I couldn't help but be excited about putting our plan into action. We had spent most of yesterday hunting for the perfect fabric — nothing cheap would do for a noble child, after all. This baby would have the best. We had spent a pretty penny on it, but Denna was content to fork over most of the contents of her purse.

"Once we're wed, money won't be a concern," she said brightly, counting her remaining coin: one bit and three pennies, most of which we spent on a loaf of fresh bread and several pastries from the bakery in the Belem quarter, which was renowned for its baked goods. We also bought a small wheel of creamy, soft cheese and a bottle of sweet, fruity wine. Then, Denna and I had sewn the clout, giggling over sewing patterns we had found among Mother's old things, tucked away with our own baby clothes.

"Perhaps it will be a girl," Denna had said, smiling. "And she can wear all these things too."

"I'm sure Trent will have her in silks," I said. "Brand new things every day! She won't want these old rags."

Denna had merely smiled, clutching her old tunic to her chest for a moment before we took what we needed and stole out into the yard, where we worked until the sun bathed the world in red.

Now, the feast was packed into a basket beside me, which stood upon a thick blanket laid out upon the late summer grass. I stood still, clutching Mother's rebec in a slightly trembling hand. My other hand held the bow. Denna would tell Trent, and then the spotlight would fall on me. And I was ready. I would be the best aunt — Denna would never abandon me.

The crunching sound of footsteps cut through the sleepy air, and I blinked out of my musings to see Trent approaching Denna through the trees. I had met him many times before, but here, as the sunlight sliced through the trees and glinted across the silver buttons on his tunic and the hilt of his jeweled sword, I couldn't help but think how striking he was. His hair was pure gold, glowing in the rays of light. It created a beautiful contrast to Denna's dark and curly locks. He smiled when he came upon her and placed his lips lightly on her brow. They looked wonderful together. Like a painting of beauty and nobility.

"Here I am, love," he said easily.

She grinned and leaned forward, brushing his lips with her own. I watched with curiosity. Was that what growing up was all about? Touching lips and hearts, until babies came?

"Thank you for coming." Denna's voice seemed shy; much more demure than how I was used to hearing it. I frowned slightly where I stood in the trees. How could she contain her secret so calmly, when she was usually so prone to letting her heart burst free?

"You said it was a surprise." He leaned forward, kissing her again. I stared, fascinated, as he held his lips on hers for a long moment before leaning back to brush her cheek. "What is it, love?"

"I have — um—" she stuttered, fumbling with the clout, "something for you."

She seemed to steel herself, then held it out, her face breaking into a smile. She looked calmer now, happier. "Here it is."

 _This was it!_ My moment. I raised the rebec, practically dancing with excitement.

"What's this?"

I paused, the bow inches from the strings, and glanced out past the trees again. He sounded confused. Didn't he understand what it was? We'd worked so hard…

"It's a clout," Denna said, smiling. "I made it myself."

"I know _what_ it is," Trent said, his voice entirely unreadable. "Why are you giving it to me?"

"Because," she said patiently, reaching out to take his hand. "I'm with child, Trent!"

There was a silence. A silence so thick and sudden that it seemed to suck out all the surrounding air. I stared, my fingers frozen, my task entirely forgotten. The silence was captivating. It seemed to pull me in.

"That can't be," Trent said finally, staring at her.

"What do you mean?" Denna said, laughing a little. "It was a bit of a surprise for me, but considering…" She smiled at him again. "I mean honestly, it's almost shocking it hasn't happened sooner…"

Trent seemed to come out of a daze. "Right," he said. "Right. I see."

"Right," Denna agreed, seemingly happy with the turn of conversation. "I reckon I'm about three span along. So there's plenty of time to plan. Isn't that wonderful? We can tell our parents—"

Trent's face had turned white as she spoke. He took a hasty step back, dropping her hand.

"—and I suppose we should be wed sooner than we…" She trailed off, looking at him. "Trent? What's wrong?"

"Denna," he said, his voice a little strangled. "Black hands! We can't have a baby…" He paused, staring at her for a long moment. "You've got to get rid of it."

"Get rid of it?" she gasped, her voice a shocked whisper. "What— What are you saying? I couldn't…"

"You _must_ ," he said, his voice firm. "I understand you can't ask your father, but I will help you. I will arrange for you to see a doctor. Money's no issue, of course. I'll—"

"Trent," she gasped, "stop."

He did. He froze, staring at her like a startled deer. In the trees, I stood still as a statue, unable to look away as my mind slipped into confusion.

Denna had said he wanted a child, and yet he reminded me of the sobbing woman who had stumbled into Father's apothecary last summer begging for tea, medicine, denner — _anything_ that would take her child away. I had been in the store, meant to be sorting and reorganizing Father's inventory of herbs though I was doing no such thing, and I could still remember the desperate look in her eyes as she begged Father to help her.

Seeing the same terrified look upon Tent's face now scared me horribly.

Feet away from me, Denna drew in a shaking breath, holding it for just a moment before pulling her composure back around her like a shield.

"I know you're scared," she said, reaching for Trent's hand again. Her voice was oddly gentle. "I am too. But it's all right. My family will understand and—"

"Mine won't."

He stepped back again, the gap growing between them.

"B-but we'll be wed…" Denna said, her voice trembling now. Her face fell as she watched him stand in silence. It seemed to hover around him, like a looming shadow. "Isn't it all right if we're wed? I know this isn't proper, but we can tell them it happened after, if you like…"

"Denna," Trent whispered, his voice cracking. "We can't— I can't marry you."

"W-what?" She took a step toward him, her eyes filling with sudden tears. "But we said— _you said—_ "

"I know," he said, stepping back again. "But, Denna, I can't just— I mean, my father's an advisor to King Roderic— and you're… you're…"

"The girl you love," she whispered, tears slipping free of her lashes to trail down her cheeks as she edged towards him again. "The mother of your child."

"A commoner," Trent said quietly.

She paused and looked at him hard, and I stared at the three steps that stood between them. Seemingly so close, and yet worlds apart. The gap as deep and wide as a canyon.

"It's never mattered to you before," she whispered. Her tears reached the curve of her chin, dangling there for a moment before dropping to the rock-strewn ground. She made no move to wipe them.

Trent looked uncomfortable and said nothing.

"Is this the face you hide beneath the silks?" she added quietly. "Is this who you really are, Trent?"

He looked away, his silence gathering around him like a shield. Her words didn't seem able to cut through it at all.

"Did you ever love me?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. To Trent's credit, he had courage enough to meet her eyes one last time.

"No." The word was flat. Emotionless. "Get rid of it, Denna. You don't need to raise my bastard."

He turned and walked away, his cloak billowing effortlessly in the wind behind him. He had vanished from my line of sight before Denna collapsed to her knees, her choked sob renting the now-silent air.

I slowly lowered the rebec and stepped out from among the trees.

That day, I had learned two things. I learned that the divide between nobles and commoners was even deeper and wider than I had ever imagined, and that love can cut hearts just as well as any sword.

There are many sweet things I can say about Denna. I can talk about her kindness or exuberance, or her capacity for love. But the months that followed were truly a testament to her strength. She cried, of course. She wouldn't be human if she didn't take a moment to let her grief overwhelm her a bit on its way out. But she picked up the pieces well enough.

Sitting across from our parents that night beside the blazing fire, she told them everything, wiping still at her swollen eyes.

"He's gone, and good riddance," she said of Trent. And "I'm keeping it, of course," of the baby. "I'll raise it myself. I'll work in the shop with Father. Do housework for the nobles. Whatever it takes."

Mother and Father were disappointed — I could see it in the looks they shared, in the hard set of their faces. There would be no suitors for Denna now, noble or otherwise. Few men would choose to care for someone else's child. Her prospects for marriage were virtually nonexistent. But there was nothing to be done for it. Nothing that could be fixed with words. And her pain was punishment enough.

There was a part of me that delighted in having Denna back, but the Denna I got wasn't quite the one that had skipped naively off to follow her heart two seasons ago. She had believed in something back then with all the best parts of herself — in something that lived in a thousand books and stories — and now that something had cracked right down the middle, and no matter how she tried to stitch it up, the edges just didn't fit right anymore. I reckon that even if she _had_ found love again, she probably wouldn't believe it. Would probably spend it all with a dark shadow within her, searching for the string that held it all together. The string that could be pulled to unravel the entire thing. I know. _Gods, Denna, I know._

Because I'm standing right there, aren't I?


	4. Malignancy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may be particularly triggering to some. Please check the tags if you need warnings.

In those next few span, Denna put on the bravest face I had ever known and faced each day with a smile, and it didn't matter very much that the smile was often fake, and that it had often cracked by midmorning. She put it on at first light just the same, and we followed her lead best we could. She worked in the apothecary with Father in the mornings, then returned home to assist me in chores. In her free time, she dug through Mother's old things, pulling out clouts, tunics, and small blankets, and washing them all painstakingly until they smelled of fresh lavender. Lannis faded slowly to Reaping, and all the while she didn't speak of Trent, and we too refrained from mentioning him.

The pain of it all was well evident, though. It was hard for Denna. I reckon it was bearable… but only just. For one, I knew her heart was broken, and though her free moments to dwell on it were few, I still found her in tears more often than I want to recall. For another, the sickness that came with bearing children hit her hard. Denna was ill most every day. She walked around in a progressive state of paleness, often dashing off when a wave of sickness took her, and none of the medicines or herbs in Father's apothecary seemed to help at all. Neither did any of the other remedies that Mother sought out for her. For another, she bled often. So much so, that Mother feared she would lose the child, and ordered her to remain home and rest after two span had passed.

The fear was exacerbated by the local doctor, Tim, who held a rounded tube to her slightly swollen belly for a long silent moment, before confessing that he couldn't hear anything beating inside, and that the child was likely no more.

"It will be expelled soon," he told Denna, before leaving her to cry in the ensuing silence, for the baby had shown her the true face of love despite existing only inside her. And she cried for days as the intermittent bleeding continued, staining all the sheets we owned and the mattress beneath. But nothing in the shape of a baby ever made an appearance, and for all that, Denna's belly grew. It was noticeable after three span, and significantly bigger after another two had passed, putting her fears of losing the child to rest.

"It is growing," she told us over and over, smiling weakly as she pushed through the ever-lingering sickness. "It is strong."

"Perhaps you are having twins," Mother told her, looking her over in contemplation. "Your belly is growing too fast."

Denna smiled at that, her pale face lighting up. "Or perhaps I'm carrying something more than simply a child.."

"What do you mean?" Mother said, frowning.

I, however, was quicker to catch on.

"Tehlu anyway!" I cried, using my favorite phase. "Denna's going to give birth to Menda!"

Mother looked between us, wary. "Come, girls, you are too old for faerie tales."

"But, Mother," I said, with all the appropriate levels of excitement, "Perial gave birth to Menda after just three months! She was innocent and pure and perfect, just like Denna! Denna's alone, just like Perial. And her baby is growing bigger and faster than anything! Even after the doctor couldn't find his heart. Can't you see? Denna will—"

"That is just a story," Mother admonished me, and I fell into a sullen silence. "And even so, Menda has served his purpose and returned to Tehlu and the earth. Tehlu appears to us when he is needed, and the need that calls him is bigger than Denna and some fool of a noble, or you and I.

"And do not curse, child. It's unbecoming for a lady."

I scowled, appropriately shamed, but after Mother left, Denna and I exchanged brilliant smiles. Hers was a little strained against her pale face, but there just the same. From that moment on, we decided the child would be a boy, and called him Menda. Though not in front of Mother.

In another span and a half, Denna could barely leave her bed. She stumbled dizzily upon standing, and complained of a sharp pain blazing all across her belly. After finding her unconscious towards the end of Fallow, Mother and Father called another doctor in a state of near panic.

The new doctor was unlike the old one. Rather than old Tim, who treated all manner of ailments for the commoners, Eamon treated the nobles. He was well practiced, with a fine education from Renere's School of Medicine, its teachings second only to The University in the Commonwealth. And anyway, practitioners from The University were not to be trusted, for it was well known that in the west they consorted with dark forces better left alone.

Eamon was tall, well-groomed, and narrow-faced. His hair was darker than mine, nearly black as coal, and he cut a rather striking figure with his black robes swirling dramatically upon entry. Mother and Father had paid him a whole noble to secure his services; more than we could comfortably afford.

He appraised Denna in silence for such a long time that I nearly burst out screaming at him to fix her — to _fix her now! Please…_ — but Mother placed her hand on my shoulder and I kept my tongue. He examined her, pulling out several metallic and glass tools that carried various degrees of severity, before banishing us from the room. Father took my hand, pulling me out. Immovable, Mother remained.

When we were allowed to return, the mood in the room was somber. Denna sat leaning against the back of the bed, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. Mother's face was pale and drawn where she stood, and Father let go of my hand to stand beside her. I slipped around them, approaching Denna.

"It is _not_ a child," Eamon said calmly, his voice slightly accented with a foreign lilt I couldn't place. "Certainly it grows, but that is exactly the problem. This growth is malignant. Do you understand? It must be removed at once."

"No!" Denna gasped, from where she sat huddled upon the bed. "I won't kill my child. I won't! You're wrong!" She started crying in earnest then, harsh sobs wracking her whole frame.

"There is no child," Eamon repeated. His tone was still calm, even detached, but he turned to face Denna, his dark eyes looking into her tear-stained blue ones. "I am sorry to say, but if there was ever a child at all, it is long gone. There is no heartbeat. No shape of a human. I have seen this before. There is something insidious growing inside you. A tumor. And it _will_ kill you if left alone. Young lady… Denna. You must stop this foolishness. If you want to live, I must cut it out immediately. It has had a long time to root, but I do believe I can still save you."

"Cut it out?" she gasped, paling. "You want to _cut out_ my child?"

"Denna," Mother said, stepping forward. "Denna, please. Listen to the doctor."

"No," Denna cried, shaking her head harshly. "No, no, no…" She trailed off weakly, the words fading to sobs. "No, I won't. _I won't kill him._ "

Eamon sighed, turning to my parents. "She will not listen to reason. If you value her life, you will agree. It can be done today. I have ample anesthetics that will sedate her for the duration."

"You mean, force her?" Mother said sharply. "We can't just—"

"Denna, you _must_ do this," Father said, cutting across Mother. His tone was harsh. Urgent. "This child is not worth your life."

"There _is no child_ ," Eamon repeated, an edge of exasperation creeping into his voice. "It will not be—"

"Yes, there is!" Denna burst out. "Can't you see it growing? He's right there. _Right there!_ "

"Denna," Father tried again, "you must calm down."

"Ask Trent then!" she cried, her voice breaking. "Ask him what he would do. Ask him to send a real doctor from the court. You'll see."

"Sweet, you are being ridiculous," Father began. "Eamon is a very skilled practitioner."

"She's in shock, Harlan," Mother said softly, taking his arm. "We need her to understand that…" Their voices faded into the background as Denna sobbed harder. I edged closer, reaching out to take her hand.

"Denna," I said quietly, pulling at her arm. "You _can't_ die. Please." My voice trembled.

"Don't be silly," she managed through her tears. "No one's dying. You just need to ask Trent—"

"Denna, Trent _left you_ ," I whispered, my own eyes tearing up. "He's _gone_. Please."

"He'll come back for this," Denna said stubbornly. "If he knows what's happened, he'll send a doctor. The best there is. He'll do that much."

"He said he didn't love you!" I said, crying with her. "Why would he help you now?"

She didn't reply. She didn't seem to hear.

In the end, there was no convincing Denna. Mother and Father sent Eamon away, all three of them conversing in hushed whispers. Mother was adamant that Denna be persuaded rather than forced to proceed with the doctor's recommendations.

"If you cut a child from an unwilling mother, she will fall into darkness and lose the will to live," she said with uncharacteristic ferocity. "And then she'll be just as dead either way. She just needs a day or two to process the shock. I will convince her."

Father, for his part, spoke harsh words to himself and hit the wall with his fist until his hand was bloody and cracks ran through the plaster.

And Denna talked of nothing but Trent, murmuring his name like a prayer all night in our shared bedroom as if she had fallen into delirium. Perhaps she had.

I lay there, quite awake as the night lightened softly into the feathery grey light of dawn, and tried to shut out the litany of her voice while terrified tears ran down my cheeks in silence.

Next morning, Father didn't open the apothecary. Instead, he put on the nicest set of clothes he owned and made his way to the royal palace. I accompanied him, clad in my best church dress with my short hair done up all proper. Inside, my small heart beat out of time, tattooing a frantic rhythm against my chest. I think I knew, even back then, that it was futile. But for Denna, we would have walked all the way to The University if that would have helped her.

If there had been time.

They allowed commoners to enter the palace in the mornings so they could petition the royal court. Usually, requests were directed to the king, and were overseen by his advisers. It was unusual to petition an adviser directly, but it was allowed. As part of the court, they had to at least _appear_ to be accessible to the common people. So Father stood tall and requested a private audience with Lord Trent, son of Lord Leander.

"What is the nature of this request," a court attendant asked in a rather nasal tone.

"It is of a personal nature, my lord," Father said, his voice booming across the cavernous receiving chamber. "As it relates to my family."

I remember thinking how impressive he looked, standing tall and confident, clad in his best in this beautiful room of gold drapings and artful tapestries and tall columns that reached a ceiling high as mountains, as he requested an audience with the only son of a high-ranking adviser of the king's own court. It is only now, as I look back, that I see how shoddy his best cottons looked in that room full of silks. How he shied away from their words and whispers. Only now do I see that the confidence was a mask, no more a part of him than Denna is a part of me. But still, he wore it well.

After two painful hours had passed, Father and I were finally led along a succession of grand hallways by two guards dressed in crisp red tunics with long swords at their sides. I stared at the massive colorful tapestries that adorned the walls, at the paintings that graced the ceilings. At the large windows, through which sunlight filtered through. The palace was majestic, even at its edges. Unimaginably spectacular.

We didn't belong there.

We walked deeper into its bowels, until the windows were replaced by flickering lanterns that were spaced too closely together for shadows to take root. The light glittered off the paints in a rich sheen. At last we entered a room along the eastern wall. It was smaller than the receiving hall, though still grand and spacious. Large floor-to-ceiling windows covered the far wall, which flooded the room with light. The floor was plush, layered with a thick, soft carpet that sank beneath our feet. It was like royals-made-fabric. The ceiling was tall as sky, dressed in a swirling pattern of gentle colors. There was a slightly raised platform along the wall to our right, offset with suits of armour that were polished so much they gleamed. And in the center of the platform, stood Trent.

He looked stunning. His hair was thick and smooth, perfectly framing his face. He was dressed in garments much finer than anything I'd ever seen him don before. A rich blue cloak hung about his shoulders, the material flowy with a casual grace our cottons and linens could never achieve. The buttons fastened under his chin glinted gold in the sunlight. His tall boots were shiny — polished black leather that looked soft to the touch. For all that, his face was set in a nervous scowl. Beside him was an older man with cold, hard eyes; dressed even more finely and gazing upon us with displeasure. The guards that had walked us in stopped by the door and remained there, looking straight ahead in silence. Their hands, however, came to rest loosely on the hilts of their swords, sending chills down my spine.

Father faced the hard stares of the nobles, standing still before them. Beside him, I could feel the trembling in my hands. It seemed to take Father an age to find his voice.

"Lord Trenton," he murmured demurely, addressing the boy my sister had loved with a show of propriety that cut right through me. He bowed low, his eyes falling to the floor for a full minute before he raised his head again. Behind him, I stumbled into a jerky curtsy, my hands shaking slightly as they grasped at the thin cotton of my dress.

"Why did you call upon my son?" the older man said flatly, and I realized he was Lord Leander himself. Trent's father, and advisor to the king. I gasped, and the small sound seemed to dance around the cavernous room forever. Trent's eyes moved to me for just a moment before snapping back to staring loftily ahead. Lord Leander didn't spare me a glance at all.

"Lord Leander." My father bowed low to him as well. "I am here on behalf of my daughter, Denna, to ask Lord Trenton for… for a small favor. You see, they are acquainted, and she believes there is a matter with which he can assist her. It is of no consequence to you, your lordship, but it would mean the world to my family."

Lord Leander spared me a calculating glance at Father's words. "Is this your daughter here? I can't imagine what my son and your _child_ would have in common. How old is she?"

His lip curled slightly as he looked at me, and I shrunk back at the harshness in his tone.

"This is my other daughter, my lord," my father said quickly. "For Denna, the matter is rather delicate, and—"

"I'm not acquainted with any Denna," Trent said abruptly, his voice ringing across the room. "I don't know your daughter. You must be mistaken." He looked resolutely away from us, gazing out across the room.

"Well, there you are," Lord Leander said, a sharp smile grazing his features. I noticed that it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You must be looking for another young Trenton. Perhaps it's best if you be on your way." He shot a glance at the guards behind us. "With grace, of course."

Father stared at Trent, who was continuing to avoid eye contact with us. I seethed inside with all the fury of an eleven-year-old scorned. How many times had we seen him in our home over the summer? _How many times had he broken bread at our table?_

"My lord," Father tried again, taking a half step forward. " _Trent_."

There was an instant uproar at his words.

"How _dare_ you!" Lord Leander said, his face drawing together in fury. "Who do you think you are, pleb?"

He motioned to the guards, who drew their swords with metallic clangs and took several steps in our direction. Trent blanched away from Father's beseeching tone.

"Please," Father said, ignoring the guards behind him. "Trent— my lord. _You ate at our table._ You've courted our daughter—"

"Enough!" Lord Leander snapped, his tone as hard and brittle as ramston steel. "Take him away!"

The guards hurried forward. One raised his sword threateningly, the other grabbed Father by the arms.

"The child is killing her!" Father cried, his eyes searching wildly for Trent as he struggled with the guard. "She has asked for a doctor. Please! _Trent_ —"

"REMOVE THEM FROM THE PALACE!" Lord Leander thundered, his face a furious red. The guard was dragging Father now, with his sword held at his throat. The second guard grabbed roughly at my arm, and I let out a terrified scream, kicking at his shins. He slapped my face, hard, until my ears rang and my vision momentarily pulsed black. When I could see straight again, the guards had dragged us to the door. Lord Leander was still raging at Father.

"If you step one foot inside the palace again, I will have your shop burned to the ground. I will have you blacklisted in all of Vintas and expelled from the city, and your license revoked. Get out of my sight!"

In that last moment, before they shoved us roughly through the door, my eyes found Trent's in the chaos. The mask of indifference he had been hiding behind had shattered, leaving the face of a scared boy underneath. He looked at me for a long moment. I like to think that I saw a flash of shame or sadness in his eyes. Something. But the guard yanked on my arm, and Trent turned abruptly away, leaving us — leaving Denna — behind. And then the door was slammed shut before my face. And it was over.

Denna cried for days when we returned with the news. We sat in the kitchen in silence, listening to her wrenching sobs as Mother applied a poultice to my throbbing cheek. The mood was somber, making the air about us so dense it was hard to breathe, and darkness settled like lead in my stomach.

For the next several days, Mother pleaded with Denna. Father raised his voice and attempted a commanding tone. I held her hand and cried, and begged her to please, _please_ , do what the doctor said. Finally, she relented. Half a span had passed.

Euphoric, my parents called once again for Eamon. It cost them another noble, but at that point even I understood that money meant nothing unless it was spent on something worth valuing. And two nobles seemed a bargain for a life.

He appeared at our door next morning, clad in his familiar blacks and followed by a young Cealdish man with an austere expression, who carried Eamon's case. I watched them make their hurried way towards our bedroom, where Denna lay waiting. She met my eyes through the gap in the doorway and smiled weakly in my direction before Eamon's assistant closed the door with a definitive thud.

And then there was nothing to do but wait.

We sat, all of us silent. I twisted my hands together nervously, fidgeting with the waterskin I held in my lap. Denna had asked for a sip of water just that morning, but Eamon arrived before I could hand it to her, and now I couldn't seem to put it down.

She was surely asleep now, medicated into unconsciousness with Eamon's expensive medicines while he made crude, perfect incisions in her gentle skin. I couldn't stop imagining it with perfect childish horror. What would it look like. Would she have scars? Would they heal like the scrape on my elbow from falling off the tree when I was nine, or would they remain, like the jagged scar below my hip from when I had grabbed at Denna while she was holding a kitchen knife. It had jabbed crookedly into my thigh, slicing off a small chunk of skin. I had screamed bloody murder then, until my throat was hoarse and my eyes were nearly swollen shut from the endless tears. Father had fed me several scruples of bitter, chalky medicine until the bleeding lessened and the pain became nearly bearable, and then Old Tim had stitched me up while Denna apologized profusely over and over again, crying in her own right. The wound had long healed, but the scars remained. Would Denna's scars be like that?

I decided it didn't matter. Denna would still be beautiful, no matter what scars she had. That's what she'd always told me, after all. It would be extra true for her. And besides, scars were cool. They showed you were strong and had survived hard things and walked out on the other side. She'd said that to me too, after I saw the ugly scar beneath the bandages. And these things she was surviving, I knew they were hard. Really hard.

She'd said as much the previous night, as we both lay awake until the early morning hours, our shared anxiety scaring all thoughts of sleep away.

"Even if the doctor says it's not a child," she told me softly, "it's still a child to me. Do you understand?"

"No," I whispered back, shaking my head emphatically against my pillow until my hair rustled in a counterharmony. "How can it be a child if it isn't? The doctor said it's a mistake. A bad…" I struggled for the word. "A _malignancy_. And if you don't take it out—"

"Then I will die," she said quietly, and her matter-of-fact tone stunned me into silence. "But in my heart it's always been a child, you see? And even though my mind understood what Eamon said, my heart did not." Her voice broke a little then, trembling beneath the heaviness carried in her words.

"But now?" I asked, after a lengthy pause. "Does your heart understand now?"

"It understands," she whispered. "But it hurts just the same."

I nodded, my hair rustling softly in my ears again. That, I thought I could understand.

"I love you, little bird," she added gently.

I turned, glancing at her profile. She was just visible in the moonlight spilling in through the window. Her face looked pale, almost ghostly, and her eyes were glazed. Teary. But if she was crying, I couldn't hear.

"I'm so sorry about all this," she said, after a long moment had passed. "For leaving you for Trent. For scaring you with this. When this is all done and I'm better, we'll play together again, okay? We'll do our chores together, and I'll listen to you sing. Like before. And when you're older, I'll help you find a nice boy. Not like Trent. A good one. I promise."

"Okay," I whispered, my throat feeling suddenly tight as tears sprang into my eyes. "But I don't want any boys, Denna. Just you."

"You will," she said resolutely, a smile gracing her voice. "You'll see. You'll fall in love and get married, and then _you'll_ have children, and _I'll_ be the aunt. And I'll spoil them rotten." Her voice sounded wistful. "Like little princes."

And I had responded, amused, that she wouldn't have time to spoil my children, because of course she'd have more of her own, and she'd be busy spoiling them. But I didn't have time to dwell on what she said next because at that moment the door opened and I jumped to my feet to see Eamon step out of the bedroom, and then my heart just froze in my throat. Because his blacks were all dark and stained, and smelled strangely metallic, and as I was trying to sort out what the smell was, I saw the red. It was _everywhere_. It was splashed onto the bridge of his nose, onto his arms, above where his gloves had been. It was behind him, smeared on what I could see of the bedroom floor through the gap in the door. It was everywhere, except on his robes, because the red there just made the black darker. Maybe that's why he wore it. So his patients could bleed, and no one would see the blood.

I saw the blood though. And then I saw Denna on the bed, pale as paper. Still as a doll. And blood. Blood _everywhere_. And the smell of it hung on the air. Thick. Heavy. _Iron_. Like a sword made liquid.

And Mother was sobbing, Father was yelling, and Eamon's voice was a low, incomprehensible murmur. There was a sudden burst of cold seeping across my hands from the waterskin, broken beneath my murderous grip.

And then there was only darkness. Only red fading to black.

Until there was nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this story and D so far. Especially in a fandom that has fallen so quiet as we wait for Pat and DoS and wonder if it will ever come (I hope so). This chapter was difficult to write in ways I can't even voice. I didn't use the wording because it didn't feel appropriate to the time and universe, but what happened to Older Denna is called a molar pregnancy. It's something I'm intimately familiar with, and in exploring how that situation could have ended without the proper medical care and medicines we have today, I've wandered down a particularly dark road. One I hope no one will ever have to face. Most molar pregnancies now are treatable, but that makes them no less horrible. No less upsetting. And no less terrifying. And if this is something you've experienced, I'm so sorry. You aren't alone. <3


	5. Lost

The day we buried her was the day the first snows fell.

I remember feeling cold. Inside and out. As if the snow had reached through my skin to lodge in the raw cracks of my heart. I shivered and shivered and couldn't get warm no matter how much I shook. I was lost… trapped in the black. In the water. In an endless sea of whispers and sobs; the entirety of it roaring in my ears and making no sense whatsoever.

I know there were words spoken. By my parents, whose voices shook harder than my small and broken heart. By the Tehlan priest, who mourned with all the decorum the church allowed. By the neighbors, who came with empty words and left with enough gossip to light their hearthfires for days. By my grandparents, who had truly loved her. I didn't hear any of them… couldn't. There were hands on my shoulders, but they couldn't touch me. I was broken, and frozen in pieces. Still as stone. Shrouded in ice.

All I could remember, then and now, was her body. Broken. _Shredded_. Painting the sheets beneath her. She had still been clutching the clout.

Of the time after, I remember little. Mostly darkness. I remember how big my room felt without her bed in it; the empty space where it had once been marked only by its absence. I remember staring blankly at the floor. Hours and hours and hours, just staring at the empty space and wishing I couldn't feel anymore. But I didn't know how not to feel, because I felt everything. My emotions danced around me in such a whirlwind that I could barely find firm ground to stand. I was overcome with grief. I was so angry at the world for taking her away. I cursed at Trent. At Tehlu. At Eamon. I would think of her laughing or butchering a song as she worked in the kitchen and smile. And then I'd cry again, harder than ever, as if that smile, that silly slip of memory, had torn my heart apart again with its jagged edges. But I didn't know how to cope without the tears. So I cried and cried and cried until they ran dry. Perhaps I was wise for it.

Not that it made any difference.

Sometimes all the tears in the world aren't enough at all.

Mother tried to talk to me at first. She found me often in the beginning of Dearth. She would approach me in the wintry remains of the garden, where I would sit silently for hours, and pull me inside the kitchen, which was colder still for all the warmth of the fire. She would grasp my cold hand with her soft fingers, and whisper, "It'll be all right. She wouldn't want us to cry so, little bird. She'd want us to be strong."

But her touch reminded me of Denna's, and that hurt. The warmth of her hand seemed to burn my frozen skin, and I would think of Denna, still and cold, and clutching at a clout that would never be fit for anything. And then I would scream. I would rage. I would grab dishes and throw them at the wall until the floor was coated in shreds of clay, and ceramic, and porcelain. And then I would run, leaving her alone to cry silently. To pick up the pieces.

But I didn't want her. I didn't want Father. I didn't want _anyone_ , no matter how much they loved me or how much they had tried to do their best for Denna. They had let her run around with Trent without ever stopping her. And how could they do that? _Didn't they know_ how important Denna was? Were they in such a hurry to marry her off and make her leave? And they hadn't forced her to listen to the doctor until it was too late. Stupid Denna! She had died and left me. I was furious with the lot of them. And I took it out on my parents. On Father. But mostly I took it out on Mother, because she was there.

Oh, Mother.

It wasn't her fault. Oh, I know that. If anything, it was mine.

Mother stopped trying with me after a time. Instead, she withdrew into herself. Father, for his part, had grown hard and silent as a stone. He had no comfort to offer even Mother, so what could he possibly have for me? There were often people at our table at first. My grandparents stopped by several times a span. The priest visited to pray with us. Neighbors brought food wrapped in words of comfort. I sullenly ignored them all, and eventually, the visits grew fewer and farther between. And when it was just the three of us, dinners were spent in silence as we all picked at our food. After a time, Mother stopped cooking altogether, and meals became a smattering of edibles scraped from our dwindling stores and eaten alone. Neither Father nor I said a word.

The winter grew colder, chilling our house along with it. Father began spending more and more time at the apothecary. He would leave early in the morning and not return until well after nightfall. Rather than join him, Mother spent the hours wandering aimlessly from room to room. I watched her sometimes as she sat in the sitting room, surrounded by Denna's old things, which had been shoved away into boxes and stacked in the cellar.

"Do you want to join me?" she asked, when she spotted me watching her through the doorframe at the end of Dearth. "I was going to sort through her clothes. Maybe give some things to the church."

"You're giving her things away?" The thought stabbed straight through my chest like a big chunk of ice.

"Maybe." Her voice sounded weary. There was no conviction in it. "Just some of her clothes. They're collecting for the midwinter charity. They could really do some good—"

"You can't!" I cried, my voice rising dramatically. I thought of the Midwinter Pageantry. Just days away. Denna would never stand beside me at High Mourning and watch demons swarm the streets ever again."They're her things— How can you—" _Denna would never again see Tehlu catch Encanis and strike him down._

"I want them!" I managed, tears prickling at the edges of my eyes. They burned hot and angry. "If anyone should have them, it should be me!"

"Little bird—" Mother began, her voice breaking. But I was beyond reproach.

"I'M NOT YOUR LITTLE BIRD!" I screamed, and I grabbed the dress she was holding with so much force it surprised even me and tore it out of her hands. There was a horrible ripping sound as the fabric sheared down the middle. Mother let out a sharp gasp, staring down at the ruined dress.

"Tehlu anyway!" I cursed, starting to cry in earnest. I dropped the dress, whirled on my heels, and ran out of the sitting room, slamming the door to my bedroom behind me. It wasn't supposed to be only my bedroom. The bitter thought made me cry harder.

Mother called after me. She stood outside the door and knocked and called my name. She tried the door, but I had been cruel enough to turn the lock. She asked to come in, and I could hear the sadness in her voice. I could hear how the tears warped and colored her words, and shaped them into broken pleas. It hurt me. I loved her. I didn't want her to be in pain. But I was young and thoughtless, and it only made me angrier that she was hurt too. That I had hurt her. How dare she be upset over something I said in my own pain. I didn't want to feel guilty too, on top of everything. Didn't she understand that it all hurt too much already?

So I screamed at her, my words bursting through the wooden door with all the spiteful anger I possessed.

"Go away!" I told her. "Leave me alone!"

"I love you," she said through the door, her voice quiet and choked with tears. "I know it's hard. It's hard for me and your father too. But we need to talk through this. Denna wouldn't want this—"

"Denna didn't want to die either!" I screamed. "But you _let_ her! You let her say no to the doctor, and now she's _dead_! It's all your fault! _I hate you!_ "

There was a silence on the other side of the door. A silence as thick and heavy as a new coating of snow on midwinter's morning. It settled in my chest, cold and hard and harsh. I stared at the door, an odd feeling seeping through me. My mouth suddenly felt dry, and a chill broke out across my arms.

Mother didn't reply. The silence swelled, taking all the air in my lungs with it until I felt empty and breathless. And then, when I couldn't stand it for a moment longer, there was a slight creak outside the door, followed by the sound of Mother's footsteps, growing softer. Falling away. Until the silence returned, heavier than before. I realized what the feeling was then, as it played my own words back at me. Screamed them shamefully inside my head.

Regret.

Mother was nowhere to be found when I tried to apologize, and I spent the rest of the day alone, finally falling into a fitful sleep as night swaddled the house in darkness. I awoke in the early morning hours with my stomach gnawing with hunger to the loud creak of my door and a pervasive smell of whiskey. I blinked, turning my head slightly to see Father's dark shape standing, backlit, in the doorway. He didn't come in or speak, merely stood there and gazed into the room, his face in shadow. I watched him, still in the silence.

I had barely seen Father in the past few span. He'd hardly spoken two words to me. A foolish part of me hoped that he'd come to make amends, to right things between all of us. If only Father stopped disappearing to the shop, if we were all together, maybe… but he merely stood on the threshold, unmoving, until Mother appeared beside him and pulled him away with a whisper. The door slipped shut behind them, leaving me in darkness once again.

I heard Mother speaking softly, her voice an indistinguishable whisper through the walls. Father offered her a short reply, his tone brusque. They exchanged words like that for a while, their voices growing somewhat louder until I could just make out pieces of the argument through the paper-thin walls.

"—lay off, I don't—!" Father's voice sounded sharp and angry. Entirely foreign. "I can't—"

They _never_ argued.

"—drinking!" Mother replied, her voice ringing clearly through the word. "Our whole family—" Her words trailed off into a choked jumble. I thought perhaps she had started to cry.

"—fault is that?!" Father exploded. There was a loud thud, as if someone had banged the wall, and my mind flashed back to how helpless and angry Father had looked after Denna refused to listen to the doctor and begged and begged for Trent. I let out an involuntary shudder.

"What would you have—"

Mother murmured something tearily that I couldn't make out at all, though I thought I heard the familiar pattern of my name with an undertone of anguish. There was a heavy pause, then Father spoke again.

"—can't. I'm no…" He trailed off into a muttered whisper.

I couldn't make out a word after that. Their voices grew lower, the edges gradually losing their sharpness, until the only sounds that remained were heavy footsteps, walking decidedly away. They were almost loud enough to mask the soft sobs they left behind. But not quite.

I spent most of the next day in a daze, avoiding contact with Mother. It wasn't difficult as she seemed determined to avoid me too. She left the house early in the morning and was gone for most of the day. Likely to the church with Denna's things. The thought didn't make me angry anymore. Simply sad.

I spent the morning sitting at the scrubbed wooden table that took up most of the small kitchen. I nibbled on some hard cheese and stale bread, though I had no appetite despite my aching hunger. I felt completely empty inside. Exhausted. Heartless. The guilt of what I had said to Mother the night before was all but eating me alive.

She was surely in as much pain as I was. Father too. And I was hurting them more. Tehlu hold me, _I was so stupid_. How could I say those things to my sweet, kind and gentle mother? It would be better… better if I wasn't there. _Better if I…_

I almost wasn't aware of slipping into my coat, hat, and scarf. I absentmindedly dropped the remainder of the bread and cheese into my pocket, my mind whirling with thoughts of going… somewhere. Anywhere, really. I just had to get out. I slipped on my gloves; the warm wool ones Denna had made me last winter. They still smelled of lavender and burned incense. Mother and Father would surely be better off without me taking out my anger on them. They could fix everything if I wasn't there. They could talk about Denna and comfort each other. Things would never be the same, I knew that. But once they were… better, I could come back. It would be all right somehow. I would just—

The cold winter air hit me like a brick wall when I stepped through the door. I shuddered, drawing the coat tighter against my trembling body. Every breath burned as it rippled down into my lungs. I was cold. I had _been_ cold long before I stepped out into the icy wind. Long before my boots sank down into the snow. Ever since I lost her. Denna. I could barely remember the warm feeling of Before.

The day melted into an icy blur, the hours too cold to remember. At first the winter simply surrounded me, but as the day went on it stole through me, settling deep into my bones. I wandered, trudging through the steadily growing snowfall with no destination in mind as the sky fell to darkness. With midwinter quickly approaching, the city was bustling despite the cold. Masked children ran past me up and down the streets, and no one gave me a second glance, even as I grew weary and my steps faltered. I vaguely remember shuffling past a church, its doors thrown wide open in preparation for the pageantry with priests bustling in and out. I remember the smell of fresh bread warming the air around a large inn, the heat wafting tantalizingly out into the street where I stood, reaching for my frozen food with numb fingers.

But mostly I remember the cold. I remember how it burned. How it froze my lungs until I could barely draw breath and the world grew dim around me. I remember my lungs straining with the effort; the rattling sound they made as they struggled. The dizzying way the world spun. The pain as the sharp edges of the icy air cut into my chest. I don't remember making the conscious decision to walk to Tehlu Town, the small district on the southern end of the city that has more churches per square mile than any other part of Renere. I'm not sure how my small feet made it there at all, when they were barely holding on to the spinning earth. But I do remember finding myself at a familiar yellow door, the color notable even through the darkness and heavy snowfall. Mostly, I remember how icy the door felt beneath my naked hand, the metal plating of the knocker so cold it stuck to my stiff and frozen fingers. I could not remember where Denna's gloves had gone. But the pain was so sharp it momentarily stilled the earth. And then the door opened inward and I stumbled through, all but falling into Grandmother's arms.

She reached out to steady me with a gasp, her face pale even in my dimming darkness.

"Thank Tehlu!" she gasped, pulling me inside. "Where have you _been_ , child? Everyone's been looking for you!"

"I—" I mumbled, but I couldn't draw breath enough to speak. It was a gasp more than a word, and even that had left me dizzy and gasping for air.

Grandmother pulled me further into the house, into safety and warmth, which turned to softness and the dimming darkness of sleep.


	6. Refuge

I awoke hours later in a cocoon of warmth, nestled in the thick blankets of Father's childhood bed. It was morning, and sunlight streamed through the window with all the harsh brightness of a new day. My chest felt almost unbearably heavy and my head hurt terribly, but the sun was too bright to go back to sleep. I struggled weakly to my feet and padded out into the kitchen, the blanket trailing behind me along the rough wooden floor.

Grandmother was sitting at the small table with a steaming cup, and she looked up as I approached, her lined face breaking into a smile.

"How are you feeling?"

"Okay," I mumbled, sliding into the chair beside her. I pulled the blanket tighter around me as I stared around the small room, making eye contact with everything but her. "Where's Grandfather?"

"At Timmon's," she said, lowering her cup back onto the table. I felt the vibrations running along the wood until they brushed my fingertips. "Your father's there as well, bargaining for bits. Timmon was the one who came out to treat you last night."

"Oh," I whispered, guilt stabbing through me, wild and hot. Father had spent more money on me, after all the nobles they paid to Eamon. I had thought leaving would be best, and I hadn't even managed a day on my own. I'd only made things worse. My arms began to shake, and I pulled the blanket tighter around me, drawing in a shaky breath that didn't seem barely enough. I tried again, but the air felt thick as jelly.

Grandmother let out a weary sigh and got to her feet. I heard her bustling around as I stared at the rough grain that spilled across the tabletop, my thoughts a guilty, terrified whirl as my lungs struggled to draw in enough air. She appeared at my shoulder, placing a steaming mug in front of me. The vapor had a minty scent that somehow soothed my lungs as I breathed it in. I reached out, clasping both hands around it, and brought it slowly to my lips. It was bitter, but warm and soothing all the same.

"Timmon left that for you," Grandmother said, and I glanced up to see her watching me from her reclaimed seat across the table. "The tea is good for your lungs. Make sure you drink it all."

I nodded, taking another small sip. It burned my throat a bit on the way down, but a little pain was nothing compared to freely taken air. My lungs had betrayed me often enough in my young life that I had come to fear those moments like other children feared demons. A fear I had forgotten in the face of my heavy grief.

"What happened, child?" Grandmother asked, after I had been silent for a long while, staring down at my half-drunk tea.

I shrugged. I could feel the familiar prickling at the edges of my eyes and I blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears from falling.

"Your poor mother nearly lost her mind when you ran off like that yesterday," Grandmother said gently, and I stared guiltily down into my cup, refusing to meet her eyes. "Searched high and low for you. Your father and grandfather too. We had half the neighborhood looking. Tehlu hold me, we didn't expect you to turn up here. Why did you come?"

I shrugged again. A silent tear rolled down my cheek, breaking off to land on the table below. I stared at where it had fallen, watching it momentarily darken the wood.

"Are things bad at home?" Grandmother pressed.

I glanced up at her then, wide-eyed, and finally met her gaze. Her eyes were warm; light blue and crinkly around the edges — the same shade as Father's, though larger and more inviting. Father's eyes had looked something like that once, before everything with Denna wore him down and they became perpetually cloaked in shadow.

"I thought so," she said gently, nodding to herself. She reached across the table, laying her warm, withered hand atop mine. "Losing Denna… it's a hard thing. Life can often be cruel, child. I'm sorry you've come to know this side of her so soon."

"Everything's so empty without her," I whispered. "Even Mother and Father…" And then I was off, talking more than I had talked in days. Telling Grandmother tearfully about mother's grief and father's silence, and my own sadness and anger.

"I'm making it all worse," I admitted, through a heavy torrent of tears. "I say cruel things I don't mean, and I can't stop, Grandmother. It's like a demon's taken hold of me. I'm sure Mother and Father both hate me. They'd be happier if I weren't there."

Grandmother firmly shook her head, her eyes sharp. "That isn't true at all. Your parents love you. Harlan's always had a habit of withdrawing when things grew difficult. And your mother is in terrible pain, but she loves you so. She spent half the night watching over you while you slept."

"Still," I whispered. "I can't go home…"

"You surely could, child," Grandmother said. "I think your parents will miss you terribly otherwise."

"No," I said firmly. "They _won't_. I made Mother cry. I'm horrible."

Grandmother sighed again. "You are the last thing from horrible, I promise you. Listen to me. Grief can drive a heart to terrible things, and you are far too young to be well-versed in its defenses. Your mother surely understands this and will not hold it against you. You said hard words, child, but a short apology can go a long way. Do you understand?"

I nodded, biting back my lip to try and stem the tears. She made it sound so easy. But the thought of facing Mother filled me with a terrible dread. I looked away, pulling at a loose thread on the edge of the blanket. My heart seemed to be fluttering like a trapped bird in my chest, the frantic beating of its wings making my whole body tremble.

Grandmother was silent for a while, considering me. When she finally spoke, her voice was gentle. "You have the entire world on your shoulders, child. Tehlu knows, it's hard to bear." She sighed. "It pains me to see you so at odds with your mother… and far be it from me to meddle, but perhaps a short time apart would do good for all of you. You can stay here for a while if that pleases you. Until things are settled. Let's say through the holidays… but no longer. Then you must return and put things right at home."

"Really?" I asked, my face lighting up. "Oh, Grandmother, thank you! I'll do all sorts of chores. The dishes, and the cooking. And I'll clean…"

Grandmother smiled drily. "I rather think I won't turn over my kitchen to a child just yet. But you can certainly join me. I'll show you how to make a proper pie."

We made short work of it after that. Grandmother spoke with Grandfather and Father when they returned from their meeting with Old Tim, and they agreed it would be best if I remained for a while.

Father lightly kissed my forehead and promised he would bring over my things if this was truly what I wanted. Too torn to speak, I could only nod. Mother stopped by shortly after, her clothes dusted with specks of white powder and a small case of my clothes in her hands. She gave me a watery smile and made some attempts at asking me to come back home, but her heart didn't seem to be in it.

"I miss you," she told me gently, sitting beside me in the kitchen as she brushed absently at a white spot on her skirt. "The house is empty with you gone."

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, glancing down guiltily at my hands. "I'm sorry I'm so…" I trailed off, frustrated. Tehlu, I felt awful. _Why was it so hard to find the words?_ "I reckon we all need"— I paused, thinking back to what Grandmother had said before adding wisely —"time apart."

Mother frowned but didn't contradict me. She twirled her smokestone ring upon her finger in silence, her dark eyes a bit shiny, and then slipped it off and handed it to me across the table.

"It's held together with binding knots," she said softly, echoing words her own mother had once spoken. "Take it. And remember that I love you. All right?" Her voice choked up slightly on the last word, and my own eyes teared up.

I nodded, closing my hands over the ring, still warm from her touch. Mother reached out and brushed a hand lightly against my cheek.

"Little bird—" she began, and then stopped herself, as if remembering our last argument. She paused before continuing. "I understand that you don't want to come home right now. It's okay. Don't apologize. Your bed will always be there for you, whenever you're ready. Anytime."

"Okay," I said, my voice small. "I know. I promise."

She gave me a sad smile and pulled me tight against her chest, holding me there for a long moment before she finally turned to leave. I watched her go, guilt snaking through me. When she was gone, I glanced down to see a dusting of white powder pressed against my shirt, where Mother had held me. I brushed my fingers against it.

Flour.

_She had been baking._

I nearly grinned with sudden relief. I had only been gone a day, and Mother was baking pies. I had made the right decision after all. Perhaps things would be back to normal much sooner than I anticipated.

It was a silly notion, and I was foolish beyond words for entertaining it. And I can blame my youth, or my frozen, fractured lungs. Or simply my utter stupidity. But it never even crossed my mind that she might have been baking — waiting — for me.

Days passed, and High Mourning was finally upon us. Encanis and his horde of demons descended on the streets, clad in masks and swirling black robes. I wasn't able to enjoy it at all as next day I awoke with a terrible cold. Old Tim was called upon once more, and he returned quickly, bringing more tea and small packets of medicine, which Grandmother brewed for me. I spent the next few days confined to my bed, struggling to breathe, with nothing but time on my hands. Time to dwell on the painful thoughts that cut me from the inside. To ache for Mother's embrace. To make attempts at half-formed apologies that always fell short, like bridges built of stones without mortar. They would never hold.

After all, what could I possibly say to Mother that would repair the hurt I had caused her? Nothing seemed good enough.

By the end of High Mourning, I knew two things with unshakable certainty. What happened to Denna was no one's fault. Not Father's, and certainly not Mother's. This tragedy we had to live with now was simply _life_. And as Grandmother said, life could be horribly cruel. We were on a new path now — one without Denna in it. Losing her had shattered the ground beneath our feet, and now our footing was uneven. Rougher. And we were standing still in the wreckage, circling the cracks while night fell and we groped through the dark. We would have to rebuild it, stone by stone. Blindly at first, until we could see the shape it was taking. And only after we did so would we be able to walk forward once more.

But more importantly, before I could lift a single stone, I would have to apologize to my parents, because — despite Grandmother's long talks about grief and how it could shape our actions — I had been a horrible brat. And Mother didn't deserve that. It didn't matter that I was young or naive or that my heart was in pieces and my words were sharp as knives without it whole. I was the one who had broken our family. Denna hadn't chosen to leave after all — had been fighting for family until her very last breath. No, _I_ was the one who gave up.

I had to make it right. I _had_ to come home.

But knowing you must do something and doing it are two very different things. It had always been Denna who had been brave. Took risks. Flirted with danger. Her belief unwavering until the very end. Without her to lead me, I had no idea where to place my steps.

If there is one thing in my life of which I'm most ashamed, it's how long it took me to find my own courage. But like everything else, I did it too little too late.

When I was finally strong enough to wander the house, it was nearly the winter solstice.

Grandmother looked up from the dough she was kneading when she heard me enter the kitchen and smiled in my direction.

"Nice to see you out and about."

"I got tired of laying around." I smiled a true smile — one so honest I could feel it tug at my eyes.

"Come, help me make bread for supper." She beckoned me with a heavily floured hand, and I joined her at the table, sinking my hands into the warm dough. It felt squishy beneath my fingers as I rolled it against the table. The motion reminded me of cooking with Denna, but my mood was light enough just then that it made me smile instead of crying.

"Did you see much of the pageantry?" I asked. That reminded me of Denna too, but that was okay. I was in a remembering mood.

"Tehlu banished a group of three young demons right outside the front garden yesterday," Grandmother said, turning to the stove and piling it with several logs from the firewood stack. "One tried to steal his cloak while he was distracted. Made it half a dozen feet before Tehlu caught up to him. Quite troublesome, the young ones." She gave me a smile that tugged at the wrinkles on her face. "Mind, they haven't met you."

"Grandmother!" I burst out, not sure if I should be amused, upset, or offended. "You haven't seen the main event yet… I'm sure Encanis is a much bigger troublemaker than me." I hoped, anyway. Was I as bad as all that?

"That may be," she said, glancing over my shoulder and shooing me away from the bread. "That's well enough. Run and get that towel, child."

I collected the towel and handed it to her, watching as she transferred the dough into a bowl. She covered it and placed it beside the warming stove before brushing her hands on her apron and turning to face me.

"But I suggest we skip the main event this year."

"You don't want to see Tehlu banish Encanis?" I was aghast. Denna and I had always, _always_ watched Tehlu banish Encanis. I couldn't imagine spending Midwinter's Day any other way.

"It's unseasonably cold this year," Grandmother said, looking me over. "And you are barely well. I won't have you running off through the streets in a mob."

"But—" I began.

"Hush," she said sternly. "Don't argue. It doesn't suit you. Besides, I have asked your parents here for dinner. It is the end of a long and difficult year. Let us spend it together and see if we can't just put our own demons to bed before Thaw dawns upon us."

I was silent then, my harboring anxiety fluttering to life. Father had stopped by to check on me over the last few days, but Mother had not come to see me while I was ill. I was sure she was still hurt by my words, avoiding me as surely as I had avoided her. My fever had left me burnt out and weak. Almost unbearably lonely. I was aching to see her. But I still had no idea what I would say once we were face to face.

But Grandmother was looking at me expectantly, and I could do little but nod.


	7. The Between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may be particularly triggering to some. Please check the tags if you need warnings.

The dinner we prepared for Midwinter's Day was easily fit for a king. Grandmother kept me busy in the kitchen most of the day, sending Grandfather out to the market and the bakery and liquor shop for some fine Vintish wine. I barely had time to think as we baked pastries, chopped vegetables, and put a large hunk of beef to roast. Grandmother had spared no expense, seasoning it with all manner of spices: sage, garlic, thyme, and rosemary in addition to salt and pepper. The smell of it cooking slowly above the oak-fueled fire was tantalizing, and by the time night began to fall and Mother and Father arrived with snow dusting their hair, my mouth was practically watering in anticipation.

I was busy setting the candlelit table when they arrived, and Grandfather had been the one to open the door. I turned at the blast of cold air mixed with excited shouts wafting into the sitting room to see Mother and Father at the doorway. Mother was loosely holding her rebec case, and she turned to look at me, meeting my eyes across the room. Her face was pale and drawn, thinner than I remembered it. Her hair was limp, hanging around her face with none of its usual bounce. But it was her expression that froze my breath. Her dark eyes were hooded and dull within the shadows. Sadness pooled in their depths, heavier than anything I had ever seen.

I faltered then, my half-woven plans falling to pieces in the face of her raw grief. I had done it. _It was my fault._ I dropped the forks haphazardly on the table and all but ran from the room, barely managing a nod in her direction. Her face fell as I turned away, but I was too overcome by guilt to stop. Whatever I said to her, it had to be perfect. The gap between us had grown so deep. No half-baked apology would do.

Dinner, then, was an uncomfortable affair. I avoided Mother's eyes, picking at my plate of roasted beef and vegetables. The smell that had excited me earlier now all but turned my stomach, which was tense as a drum. Grandmother shot me several disappointed looks as she served the wine and passed around slices of fresh bread. I stared down at my plate, my face flushing with shame as Grandfather made brave attempts at stifled conversation. Grandmother joined in, lending her warm, ringing voice to the effort. I stole glances at them as they spoke, eyeing Father and Mother both. Father chewed his food slowly and fully, his face a stoic mask as he gave short replies to the questions his parents peppered him with. Like me, Mother remained mostly silent, shaking her head or offering one-word answers when addressed directly. It all but broke my heart.

I was so lost in the swirling tempest of my mind that Grandfather had to call my name twice before I realized he was addressing me. I glanced up from my mostly full plate to see them all staring in my direction.

"Yes?" I said weakly, glancing furtively at Mother before turning to my grandfather. He gave me a reassuring smile.

"I was just telling your parents what a big help you've been the past few days. Helping with all the cooking." He turned back to my parents. "She made all the dinner breads, you know. Nulia barely helped. Didn't she do a wonderful job?"

Father smiled thinly. "Absolutely. She always does."

"Thank you," I said quietly. I shot another look at Mother. She was staring down at the barely eaten piece of bread on her plate.

"I quite agree," she said softly. "You've really grown. This is wonderful."

She made no move to pick the bread up again and my stomach twisted.

"We've also made a pie," Grandmother said. "And picked up several pastries besides. I reckon it's quite time for dessert. If you've no objections?"

"Jolly good," Grandfather said, passing his plate along to Grandmother, who started to stack them.

I hurried to help her, grabbing Father's empty plate. Grandmother reached Mother first.

"It'll take us a little while to get dessert ready," she said, as she reached for Mother's plate. "We could do with a bit of entertainment. Althea, perhaps you could play for us?"

Mother looked at her blankly.

"I saw you brought along your instrument," Grandmother clarified. "If you were intending to play, now is a good time."

"Play," Mother said softly, as if the word were a long forgotten stranger that she was meeting again for the first time. Her lips twisted into the smallest of smiles. "Yes, I suppose I could play."

"Wonderful," Grandmother said, a slight frown creasing her brow. "Why don't you go ahead and set up while we clear the table, and then we'll sit and listen."

"That's fine." Mother stood slowly and walked back to the door to collect her rebec, her steps light and careful. I watched her for a moment in the gently flickering light of the room before following Grandmother into the kitchen with a stack of plates.

"You would do well to speak your apology soon," Grandmother said when we were alone. I joined her at the washbasin, handing her my dishes. "Your mother has lost one daughter already, but she looks as though she has lost two."

"I know," I whispered, nodding miserably.

Grandmother glanced over at me, taking my torn expression into account. "Ah, child," she said gently. "It is not so hard as all that. You need only speak your heart. If you carry these words locked up inside, they shall weigh you down like stones."

We finished clearing the table in silence and I brought out the pie and pastries as Grandmother set a kettle of water to boil. Then we returned to the sitting room, where Mother stood with her rebec raised, waiting. I sat down on the couch beside Father, turning my eyes to her as she brought the bow to the strings.

Then she played.

It wasn't any song that I had ever heard, and yet I knew it well. The music was deep and haunting, flowing through the cracks in my half-healed heart like molten lead and setting them aflame. It burned through me, resonating in its familiarity, chilling me from the inside out. She didn't sing, didn't say a word. The music sang for her, drawing her anguish out in lilting notes. Each turning of the bow was like a knife twisting into my skin. I felt the coolness of tears on my face before I realized I was crying.

It was heartbreaking. Devastating.

She lowered her hands at last, and the final notes of music faded into the night. I was still. My chest frozen. My lungs airless. We sat motionless in the sudden silence. There was not a creak, not a single rustle of cloth. Not a breath to spare. The entire world had stilled, asleep in the flickering candlelight. The music was gone, and yet it was still there. It was echoing in my heart, which had played this song so many times before. It sounded a little different when it was inside of me; tuned to my own melody. Mother's song was accented with the unmistakable turnings of her being. And yet it was the soul of my own sorrow, dressed in her clothes and played back at me. She had given voice to my broken heart.

But this grief she played was sharper, even, than the one I knew. The notes rang out, true and raw and free. There were no marks of healing on her heart. No wrappings. No plaster. How could there be, when her heart was full of song, and that song was sharp as broken glass?

The tears ran from my eyes, relentless. How could she carry so much, all locked away in silence? How could she stand, live, breathe with her heart all full of hurt, so piercing it cut?

There was a sudden sound, breaking the spell Mother had cast upon the room, and I turned to see Father clambering abruptly to his feet beside me. His face was set and hard, his hands balled into fists. In the flickering candlelight, I thought I saw his eyes shimmer before he turned away.

"I have to return to the shop. I have stayed too long." His voice was rough, barely holding on to itself.

"Now?" Grandmother said, shaking herself into movement as if waking from a dream. "It is the solstice. Don't be ridiculous. Who will be shopping now?"

Father reached for his coat, his movements jerky. "People are daring on Midwinter's Night, Mother. They drink and fall, and need medicine for their hurts. I must go."

"Harlan," Mother said, turning to him, her tone pleading. Her cheeks were tearstained, but she didn't seem to notice them enough to wipe them away. "Please. I…"

"I'm sorry, Althea." He stepped to her, bringing his lips to her cheek for the space of a moment as he grasped her hand. "They're waiting."

Then he was gone, slipping out the door over Grandmother's protestations that he at least stay for dessert.

No one was much in the mood for pie after he left.

It was after the pie was cleared and the dishes put away that I approached Mother in the empty sitting room at last.

Grandmother had taken Grandfather firmly by the arm and led him into the kitchen, leaving Mother and me alone. She stood by the window, gazing out at the reveling crowds that pushed past the house. Somewhere across the city, I knew Tehlu was stalking Encanis through the streets, firmly settled atop a horse-drawn carriage. It would all end before the clock struck midnight, and the year would begin anew. So too, I hoped, would my rift with Mother. I approached her slowly, my heart clenching and unclenching in my chest like a fist squeezed too tight.

"Mother…" I spoke softly, her name slipping out before I quite knew the shape of what I wanted to say.

She turned, her face white in the dim candlelight. Her eyes found mine. Held them.

"I'm sorry."

Faced with the raw intensity of her gaze, all my half-woven explanations unraveled into loose and tangled threads. I could do nothing but whisper out an apology. She watched me in silence. Her eyes were dark, barely reflecting the light.

"I'm so sorry," I repeated, the words coming easier now that I'd said them once before. "Can we talk about her? Denna?" Mother was still, watching me. "I didn't mean to hurt you… I didn't mean those things I said," I pressed, my voice cracking. "They were horrible."

"They were true," Mother said simply.

"No," I murmured, chills spreading down my arms at her flat tone. "Mother, they _aren't_."

"They are." Her words sounded dull and empty, like she had spoken them a thousand times before. "You're right to blame me for what happened. The fault is mine."

"That isn't… I didn't mean…"

"It's all right," she said softly. "You've spoken your heart. There is no shame in that."

She turned back to the window, the flickering lights outside reflecting across her pale face.

" _No_ ," I said forcefully, shaking my head. Pleading with her to understand. I thought back to Grandmother's words. To how raw my heart had felt all this time. "I spoke out of grief. It all… _it hurt so much._ Like your song… But I understand now. I know that it was Denna's choice. I know you couldn't force her. And I know it made no difference. Six days… There was nothing we could have done."

"Maybe," she said softly, still gazing out upon the street. "I fear it all makes little difference. She is gone."

"It wasn't your fault, Mother."

She drew in a sharp breath, turning to look at me again. "Thank you," she said quietly. "You are ever as kind as I raised you to be. You make me proud, little bird." She paused, seemingly remembering that I had rejected her favorite term of endearment.

"It's okay," I said quickly. "You can call me that." My heart ached for her to.

She offered me a sad smile. "I always have, even when you didn't hear it."

"So you aren't angry with me?" The words fluttered in my chest, tumbling around like frightened butterflies as I waited for her answer.

"No," she said, her voice gently reassuring. "Of course not. I never could be."

My face broke into a smile then, the warmth of it spreading through my whole being. _Smiling_. I had forgotten how wonderful it was.

"I'm so glad!" I gasped, and then I flung my arms around her, burying my face in her rough hair. Sobbing until I tasted salt. She hugged me, her arms wrapping around me with a light grip.

She held me for a while in silence, my hot tears running freely into the thin fabric of her dress. I lost track of the time. It could have been hours or minutes. After a while, I realized she was murmuring soothingly against my hair. A familiar litany of nursery rhymes, long ingrained into the bones of my blissful childhood. I closed my eyes, letting her quiet voice transport me to moments long gone and far away until my heart stopped beating out of time.

"You're doing better," she said, her voice muffled a bit by my hair. She seemed unable or unwilling to let go of me. "I'm so glad. I've worried that you were carrying too much within your heart."

I nodded, sniffling so I wouldn't get snot on her dress.

"They say it gets easier with time," she said gently.

I nodded again, more firmly this time. "I didn't believe it, but now I reckon it's true."

"Time heals most." She hugged me tighter for a moment then let go of me at last.

"It is late, little bird." She brushed a hand against my cheek. "I must go."

I took a deep breath. "I'll come with you… I'm ready to come home."

She smiled at that, the corners of her mouth twisting slightly upward. Then she reached out, taking my hand. "Not this time."

"But—" I began.

She shook her head, her manner firm. "Not now. It's best you stay here a while. Go on." She squeezed my hand when I didn't move and then brought her lips to my cheek, her touch light as a breath. "Being with your grandparents has been good for you."

"But I want to be with you," I said, my eyes tearing up again. "I want to come home so we can be a family again."

"Don't worry about me." She let go of my hand. "We'll always be family, no matter where we are. You, me, your father… Denna. But it's your happiness that matters now. I love you."

She stepped back and reached for her coat, wrapping it around her shoulders.

"I love you too," I said slowly, staring as she walked to the door. She nodded once and slipped out of the house. The shrill noises of the night enveloped her, and she was gone.

I stood still in the suddenly empty room, my heart beating between relief and confusion. _She wasn't angry. She still loved me._ The thought filled me with warmth. I had spoken my heart, and we were all right again. We were all right.

But she didn't want me to come home… _Why?_ Had she not forgiven me for my rash words after all? Did she need more time? Would she keep me away until then?

_What if she didn't forgive me?_

The thought filled me with terrible, crippling anxiety.

Had I ruined it all? Was it unfixable?

"How did it go?"

I turned to see Grandmother standing at the threshold to the kitchen. She smiled at me, her eyes crinkling.

"I don't— I don't know," I said honestly, twisting my hands together. I felt the familiar shape of Mother's ring upon my hand and worked it anxiously around my finger. "I apologized, Grandmother. We… we talked. But she left." I started crying then. I couldn't help it. "She said she loved me. But what if… _what if it wasn't true?_ "

"Hush," Grandmother said, stepping close to me and wrapping her arms around my trembling shoulders. "Of course it's true, child. You are talking nonsense."

"Then why didn't she want me to come home?" I cried miserably. "I've ruined it all. I ruined it..."

I turned, twisting my face away from Grandmother in shame. And then I saw it — Mother's rebec case. It was sitting by the couch, sheathed in shadow and forgotten.

"Her rebec!" I gasped, pulling away from Grandmother to grab it. "She's left it."

"She must have forgotten it," Grandmother said reasonably. "We can return it tomorrow. It will give you an opportunity to continue your talk."

I shook my head with a determined fierceness. "It's her _heart_ , Grandmother. She needs it. To play her song."

And then, before I was quite aware of it, I was running for the door with the rebec case clasped firmly in my hand, deaf to Grandmother's protestations.

The night air was frigid and alive with the buzz of a thousand conversations crashing against each other. The streets teemed with bodies. People stood on the frost-bitten cobblestones, drinking and laughing. They walked, their excited shouts ringing through the air. Several streets away, I could hear the uniform roar of a crowd; the voices a disparate harmony.

I hurried forward, pressing the rebec against my chest in a feeble attempt to guard against the chill. I hadn't bothered to grab a coat. Grandmother would be furious.

My ears tuned for the noise, I heard the front door open behind me and Grandmother shout my name in a hard tone. She _was_ angry. I darted around a Cealdish couple that walked slowly with their hands interlaced and then fumbled my way through a group of six laughing people who seemed too drunk to pay me any mind. The house was now lost to sight, and Grandmother's voice harder to make out through the clamor that cloaked the street. I turned away from the faint traces of her voice and hurried through the growing crowd, following the familiar road that led to our house as the cold seeped through the thin material of my dress and settled in my bones.

The streets grew busier, filling up around me as I jogged briskly in the chill air. The shouts grew louder, and I could hear the chiming of bells swelling in the distance; the sounds of hooves drawing near; the creaking of wood. Torches lit up the street, bouncing in the hands of the converging masses and throwing the faces around me into shadow. I could just make out the litany of priests growing louder above the din, swelling into a ringing harmony that hovered on the edge of song. Tehlu must be closing in on Encanis nearby. The procession always finished in Tehlu Town.

My hands nearly numb with cold, I turned the corner onto Harney Road — a street wide enough to boast a paved lane for riding and raised cobblestone footpaths besides. The crowd lined the street on both sides, jostling for room on the cobblestones as a majestic wagon drawn by four white horses rolled slowly into view. Tehlu stood at its head, clad in robes of white and masked in silver. The wagon was flanked by a procession of solemn priests, their grey robes weighed down with chains of heavy iron. They chanted in unison, ringing their bells in an underscoring cacophony.

I heard a sudden shout to my right, growing to a swell before I could make out the words, and I whirled to see a dark shape dart across the road. _Encanis._ He slipped into the unruly crowd, the pitch black of his cloak vanishing like a shadow fleeing from candlelight. Still running despite the futility of it all.

Tehlu had _seen_.

I turned back, watching as Tehlu raised a silver horn to his lips. It caught the flickering torchlight, its long curved shape gleaming as he blew out a long and mournful note. It rang through the night, sharp and clear and sad above the din.

_I'm coming._

It chilled me right down to my bones, the sound reverberating through me.

_Death is coming for you, demon._

The wagon sped up, the horses spurred on by the haunting sound of the horn (and the quick hands of the priests beside). The crowd was screaming its approval, singing the hymns of the church as they jostled me from every side. There was a growing wave of movement within the sea of people across the road, as if a current was crashing in on itself and the water boiling over. And then the black shape of Encanis was shoved forward, back out onto the road to await Tehlu's justice. The screaming and singing intensified, so loud that I thought my ears would break.

Tehlu blew the horn again, the melody ripping through me. Seizing my heart.

_Justice is upon you; cold and hard with all the weight of iron._

That was when I saw her.

The flaming lights of Tehlu's procession lit the road ahead, giving it a surreal flickering quality, and I saw the familiar shape of her hovering on the edge of the path. I saw just a glimpse of her. Just a flash, really. Enough for the light to spill in a glowing halo around her hair. To cement the shape of her coat; drawn tightly to her chest and flaring out around her ankles. To see the broken, hopeless grief etched in every line and hollow of her face. She was marked by her stillness; a solitary statue within the surging crowd. Standing in the in-between. Between Tehlu and Encanis. Between the full home she had left, and the empty one that waited. Between the worlds where one daughter stood waiting and another lay buried beneath the cold, hard ground.

Between the cobblestone footpath and the smooth pavement of the road.

Hovering.

A chill fear took hold of me then, colder and harder than the frigid winter air. This one bypassed my skin and sank straight into my heart. It wasn't a fear I understood. But it was one I _knew_. I knew its shape, if not its colors. I had seen it before, had felt it as I picked at a waterskin outside a door sealed shut. This fear lived on edges. Tied them together with tattered thread like a veil hovering between two worlds.

I surged forward, the rebec case crashing into shins and elbows. The crowd thrummed around me. A living, breathing thing. I screamed her name. I pushed. Ran. Stumbled. My eyes searching for hers. But she was looking only to the sky. The horses drew to a trot, Tehlu's wagon pulling ahead of its priestly contingent to close in on Encanis. The wagon was drawing nearer, fifteen feet from where Mother stood. Ten feet. Five feet. Level.

With all the painful grace of eternity shattering, she stepped off the cobblestones and onto the smooth pavement of the busy road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, sorry for this sad, sad, horrible chapter... If you or someone you know is considering suicide, please talk to someone. There are so many resources out there for help. Please reach out. You are loved. You are worthy of life. And, well, I'm literally no one useful, but if you ever need to talk about anything, I'm here. <3


	8. Adrift

The world fell silent after that. I lost my grip on the surface. I lived only beneath the water, where sounds were muted and visions were murky and deep. Down there, voices were only noise that couldn't touch me. And the pain and anger were too immense to feel. I didn't have enough heart to hold it all. And any time I broke the surface for a breath of air, it would all overwhelm me again. The air on my face would stab at me, knifelike. The colors would be too bright. The clarity of it all would hurt my eyes. It was easier to sink again. Easier in the beneath.

From the time after she bled out on the street until the first breath of spring, I remember only moments. I remember the deep red of Mother's blood pooling among the dirty traces of snow. Spilling hot and furious across my frozen hands. _It was so cold. How would she stay warm if all her blood was on the outside?_ I remember the weight of her, still and leaden. I remember crying out her name in futile sobs. She was gone. I knew it as surely as the blood stained my hands. She had stepped through death's door… to dance with Denna.

Not with me.

Beyond that, I knew nothing.

I breathed from moment to moment. Lived life in flickers, like a campfire in heavy rain. Constantly on the edge of burning out.

The funeral was a swarm of pitying faces. I can't remember a single one of them in detail. I remember their empty words, flashes of well meaning kindness, whispered gossip and speculations.

" _She fell right in front of Tehlu's carriage."_

I remember Grandmother's thin and withered hand in mine. The warmth of her body beside me. Her grasp tight and gentle both.

" _It's a tragedy. The crowds were so wild Midwinter's Night. It's getting more dangerous every year."_

Grandfather embracing Father in the chancel, both arms squeezed firmly around his back while Father sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. The sound of it all but froze my heart.

" _Horrible accident."_

Flowers everywhere. Piles upon piles of them. Overflowing the chancel and the altar both.

" _First Denna, now Althea. That poor family…"_

Father's swollen eyes meeting mine in the snow-covered graveyard outside the church, the blue of his eyes nearly black. His hand on my shoulder. A glimpse of a reassuring smile.

The last remains of my family beside me.

" _Merciful Tehlu. On Midwinter's Night, of all days."_

" _Perhaps it's Tehlu's justice. Punishment for Denna's impropriety…"_

The suffocating silence of the empty night after. Nothing but my acidic thoughts to fill up the hours.

A part of me burned with anger at what I'd heard in the whispers carried about the church. But the rest of me didn't have enough feeling to fuel the fire. My world had grown flat. My touch of it fleeting. And there was a certain truth to their hard words I couldn't deny. W _asn't_ it a punishment? But there was no Tehlu. No justice. It was one Mother had condemned herself to all on her own.

She had stepped off the footpath. I'd seen the naked truth of it with my own eyes.

But no one had seen it but me.

I remember leaving the inviting warmth of Grandmother's house and stepping into the empty silence of home. Father had refused Grandmother's offers to stay in Tehlu Town and did not wish for her to move into our small house. And I couldn't bear the thought of Father staying there alone. Not after losing Mother the way I had. Grandmother couldn't disagree.

"You need each other," was all she said when I told her of my plans to return home, in one of my flashes of clear thought.

And I wondered if she believed me — believed that it hadn't been an accident. That Mother hadn't slipped and stumbled into the street, jostled by the reveling crowd. I wondered if she blamed me as heavily as I did — if that were even possible. Or if she blamed herself for letting me stay in the easy happiness of their home when Mother needed me. We had all lost Denna, but I had been the one to lay the weight of that loss at Mother's feet. And now she was gone.

And the fault was mine.

I sank back under after that, the pain too big to grapple with. If the waves were going to crash over my head the second I tried to live, then it seemed better to stay asleep. To stay beneath the water. To breathe by the air that filtered down to me through the piping of routine and let that guide me through the dark.

So that is where I stayed, in our small house beneath the water. I didn't leave its confines outside of necessity. I cooked meals and scrubbed floors and dreamed of horrors in the empty nights when sleep dared to find me. I barely spoke, except to Father. And even then, our words were few and far between. For five span, I kept my hands busy with mindless tasks and my mind was empty and numb. It was the first time that I had ever truly felt alone.

Oh, I shared the house with Father… but it could not be said that we lived together. That we were family. If anything, we simply occupied the same space. We flitted around each other, like ghosts trapped in our own hauntings of time. Both lost in the seas of our memories, rough with patches of scars. Passing each other unseen.

In the end, we found ourselves at the same lighthouse, drawn there by broken notes carried over the swirling waters. We clung on to the thin stretch of solid ground, together in the light at last.

When I found it, I thought it would fix everything. I thought the ground was firm enough to stand on, and long enough to travel. That the narrow stretch of land was not an island but a road that would lead us out of the roiling waters.

I was terribly and horribly wrong.

I never imagined that the island was an iceberg, and that the only way to go from there was straight down into the frozen sea.

* * *

I was standing at the washbasin, mindlessly scrubbing the pots, when I heard the faint traces of music trickling into the kitchen. The notes sounded broken, like the instrument that made them was old and creaky. Its bones jarringly out of tune. But frayed as they were, I would recognize them anywhere. Mother's rebec. I hadn't heard its song twining with the open air since… since _that_ _night_.

My breath caught in my throat, as if unsure if it should stay or go. My mind had frozen, trying to logically puzzle out the source. But my body had decided for me. I walked, my steps light, my ears tuned to the sound. I followed it, flitting through the house like a ghost lost in time, until I stepped out into the yard, where the broken music was louder.

Father was sitting on the swinging seat overlooking the garden, which was just beginning to come alive with the first traces of spring. He was holding the rebec against his chest. He held the bow in his other arm and was trailing it against the strings, which squeaked shrilly beneath his touch. The sound set my teeth on edge at the same time as it stabbed into my heart with all the barbs of nostalgia. I drew in a sharp breath through my teeth and he looked up, seemingly surprised to find me there.

The terrible music stopped, and I was simultaneously relieved and horribly disappointed. Mother was gone. Of course. I knew that. But for a moment, it was as if I had heard her in the wind.

"Sorry," he said, after a long moment. "I never was any good with this thing."

I nodded, not entirely sure if I was accepting his apology or simply agreeing with him. Maybe both. He eyed me for a moment longer, then shifted on the seat and held the rebec out to me.

"You were pretty good with this, weren't you? Budding little musician, you are."

"I— I was just okay," I mumbled, not daring to take the instrument. I hadn't even _seen_ it since I'd chased Mother down Harney Road. I had no memory of what I had done with it after I ran to her. No idea how it had found its way here, to the house. In the last five span, I hadn't given it a single thought.

"Go on," he said, offering me a smile. It seemed to lighten his entire face.

I reached out, my hand trembling, and closed my fingers around its slim neck. The wood was warm. Like it had been kissed by early spring sunshine. Like it held all the heat of Father's body within its pear-shaped bowl. I brought a hand gently to the strings, running it along their lengths until I reached the tuning pegs. I twisted them very slightly, as Mother had once taught me. The familiar feel of the strings beneath my fingers felt like tear tracks carved across my hands.

"Go on," Father said again, and I glanced up to see that he was offering me the bow. He was smiling still, his face bright and sunny as the dawning spring. As if this was a normal moment. Just a father and a daughter out in the yard enjoying the first breath of spring. No bodies lying between like terrible walls.

I held out my hand and he placed the bow within it. And then my hand was moving, almost of its own accord, placing the bow to the strings.

When I played Mother's rebec, it wasn't perfect. It wasn't even particularly good. It was full of errors, and the music faltered and stalled. But Father still swore it was beautiful.

He hugged me when it was done, laughing and crying both, and said that I reminded him of Mother in a way that made my heart feel full for the first time in months.

"We've been hiding from each other, kid."

We had been sitting in silence for a while, gazing out across the garden when he spoke. I glanced up, my eyes meeting his across the length of the seat. They were as dark as they had been the day of Mother's funeral, the blue of them nearly black as pitch. I wondered if sadness — _real sadness_ — could change the shape of a person. But for all that, he was smiling.

"Losing Denna, that was a horrible thing. And your mother so soon after…" He trailed off, his expression growing hard for just a moment before he pushed the darkness aside. "We've brooded a long while, haven't we? It's about time we started living again."

I nodded silently, drawing my lips together. In that moment, he sounded so much like Grandmother that it hurt. She still stopped by several times a span, kept me company for a bit while Father was at the shop. Talked to me in platitudes like they meant something other than that she loved me. I loved her too, but since when was love enough to fix anything? Denna had loved Trent, and she died. I had loved Mother, and she died too. Maybe it all hurt a little less without love. Or so I thought anyway, until Father slid over on the seat and wrapped his arms around me.

I fumbled with the rebec in shock, and it made a melodic sound as I all but dropped it on the hard wooden bench. But I barely had room to think of it, for Father was holding me for the first time in _months_. And I couldn't understand what had changed, for yesterday he had returned from the apothecary in the late night as always and said barely two words to me as he placed a small sack of potatoes on the kitchen table. And today he was out in the yard. Hugging me. _Smiling_. Denna and Mother were just as dead, and the house just as empty. But the brightness of his sudden smile was everything.

I hugged him back, letting some of my anxious sadness whither away in the warmth of the embrace.

"So let's get to living, shall we?" he said, his voice as light and gentle as I dared remember from happy days long past. "And let's fill this house with music again. I'm hopeless"— he laughed, the sound of it fresh as the spring air—"but you're great, kid. You're going to be as good as Illien one day."

And though it was entirely untrue, the compliment wormed its way straight into my heart, cracking the icy shield around it to pieces.

Father was _back_. Tehlu had pulled him out of the darkness and returned him to me. And in that moment I could see the shape of the road before us, as if a sudden wind had blown away the storm that we'd been struggling through, and now the sun hung freely in the sky, lighting the way. Finally, we could walk it together.

The next months were happy. There is no other way to describe them. I found my smile again, found my footing out of the dark. Father spent less time at the apothecary and more time at home with me. He took care to bring home fresh vegetables, soft cheeses, and cuts of beef and pork and chicken from the butcher. He'd join me in the kitchen sometimes, attempting to cook along with me and failing spectacularly in his efforts as he over-seasoned several roasts past edibility, dropped an entire dozen eggs, and even somehow managed to burn a potato so spectacularly that it resembled a piece of coal when he fished it out of the fire.

It hardly phased him though, even when he burned his hand among the coals. He merely yielded the kitchen to me, shaking his head at himself with an easy laugh, and suggested it may be safer for him to watch from the sidelines. To compliment my cooking, he bought apples, pastries, and fizzy drinks. He replenished the herbs that had long grown stale in the pantry, stocking it with salt and pepper, rosemary and sage, flour and sugar cubes, the last of which he nibbled on as he watched me bake my way through Grandmother's recipes.

For my twelfth birthday at the beginning of Caitelyn, he brought home a large cake, layered and decorated with swirls of brightly-colored cream. Grandmother and Grandfather joined us for dinner, and I played the rebec for them all after in the garden. Grandmother gave me an approving smile when I finished my rendition of _Home Westward Wind_. There in the garden, in the midst of Mother's blooming plants and the memory of her music swirling around us, the sting of losing her and Denna didn't feel quite as sharp. In that moment, with my belly full of cake and my heart full of love, it all hurt a little less. Like things were falling slowly but surely into place. Like we had spent the long winter hibernating, much like her plants, and now we were also reaching for the sky, ready to bloom.

I'm glad I have this memory; this one last birthday in the light. Even if my view of it all was already skewed. I'll still gladly take it for the remembering, for the things that came after were even darker, even harder, than all the ones before. They are the things I wish I could forget… But how can I, when they make up the shape of me? I dream of them nearly every night.

If only I had been a little older. A little smarter. If only I'd understood a bit more of the world, perhaps it would have all turned out differently. But even for all the tragedy I knew, I was still a naive twelve-year-old girl. Raised with love. Sheltered beyond the scars. What did I know of the sudden happiness of forgetting, wrapped in smiles as white as snow?

Oh, I was just a child. And I knew nothing.


	9. In the Wings

In the beginning, the things I noticed were minor. So small and insignificant that it was easy to pretend I hadn't encountered them at all. The spices Father bought ran out, and he didn't replenish them. It didn't seem remarkable; I had been spending my free time attempting to tend to Mother's garden after all, and I had plenty of herbs that I could pull freshly from the soil. Father complimented my resourcefulness, and we decided we rather liked the taste of them.

A few days later, I finally worked up the nerve to step into the room Father and Mother had shared, mop in hand. I had taken on all the housekeeping duties since my return, but in all that time I hadn't dared to enter their bedroom for fear of seeing Mother's ghost at every turn. Today, I finally felt ready. Or as ready as I thought I'd ever be. I stood on the threshold, nervously twisting her ring around my finger as I eyed the firmly shut door.

What would I feel when I saw her things? Had Father shoved them away out of sight, or had he left them as they were, splattered across the surfaces like broken shards of memory? Would I feel her when I breathed the air she had once walked in? Was she still standing there, watching over me from a dark corner of the room? Was she disappointed that it had taken me so long to enter into her domain?

Unable to think through the questions any longer, I pushed at the door with a trembling hand and let it creak open.

The room was dark and stale and dusty. It smelled age-old and sour. Of layered sweat long soaked into the sheets again and again. Of air so trapped it had no room to breathe. I stepped slowly forward, nearly tripping over piles of cloth cluttering the floor until I stumbled to the window and pulled it open, letting in the sweet summer wind. Soaked in its light, I saw the mess spread out before me, like a war-torn battleground.

The floor was barely visible. The bed an utter mess. The curtains still swayed beside the window. I could see a thick cloud of dust swirling as it danced in the sudden light. The sight of it nearly made me sick. Had Father never cleaned it once? Had he been content to live in this mess? Was it simply that he couldn't do it himself, and couldn't bear to ask me to do it either, knowing how hard it would be?

But he was _my father_. He couldn't live like this. Not while I was the self-appointed keeper of the house.

I attacked it with a vengeance, the cleaning taking most of the day. My anxieties overwhelmed by the scope of the work. By the time dusk fell, I had laundered piles of clothes and bedsheets and hung them in the garden to dry. I had aired out the room, dusted its corners and mopped the dirt off the floors, then brought in wild flowers from the garden until the stale scent was overcome with one of summer.

Through it all, I had avoided looking closely at Mother's things, treating her clothes with the roughness of necessity. But now, I handled them delicately as I pulled them off the line. I held the achingly familiar dresses to my chest, folding them neatly into perfect bundles. But as I did, I couldn't help but notice that some of her favorite dresses were missing. By the time I was done, I was sure of it. Mother's best holiday dress was nowhere to be found. Neither were the outfits she had saved from her time at the Lackless court. The dresses she had brought from Anilin were missing, too. Had she given them all to the church last winter along with Denna's things? Surely, she wouldn't have done. She had held on to them for years. The silks on her court things alone were worth several royals. She had sometimes mentioned them when we struggled through difficult patches in the past; when taxes were particularly heavy, or Father's apothecary had hit a dry spell.

"We need not worry, Harlan. If it gets so bad as that, we can always sell my court things."

Father had always resisted. "We shall have to be a stone's throw away from starving on the street before I'd let you sell your things, Althea. I _will_ provide for this family."

Things had never grown quite as bad as that. And yet the dresses were nowhere to be found. And neither was her jewelry when I went looking. I could find neither her necklaces nor her earrings. None of her bracelets. It seemed the only piece of her that remained was the ring I wore upon my finger. I couldn't make sense of it. Perhaps she had given it away, knowing she wouldn't need it anymore. Had saved the ring for me, and nothing else. It hurt a little, but Mother had always been generous in her giving, and had never reserved it only for me.

Father hugged me when he returned home later that evening and I showed him what I had done. He praised me over a simple dinner of potato soup with spring onions pulled from the garden. For dessert, we ate yesterday's bread with jam and drank tea alongside. When I asked if he knew what became of Mother's dresses, he merely shrugged.

"I haven't seen anything in that room for months," he admitted sheepishly. "You've seen the state of it now. I'm sorry for that." He looked suitably ashamed, and I dropped the subject, worried I would send him back into the darkness he'd carried for so long. I had carried my own darkness long enough to know that it never fully left you. That it followed you always, like a trailing cloak. Waiting to rise up from the shadows and take you whole.

As summer turned slowly to fall, Father's happy mood seemed to fade. It flickered across the days, like an oil lamp on the verge of burning out. Some days his smile was sure and bright, as much a part of his being as any other piece of him. And other days it seemed to pull tight against his skin, like plaster. Those days, the white of his teeth was a harsh stain against the shadows that framed his face. His appetite grew patchy, and he appeared interested in the food I had cooked only on the days when his smile was real. The other days, he satisfied himself with dessert and nothing more, and was quick to anger. On those days I learned to be quiet, and we spent meals in silence.

As the span passed and the days grew colder, Father's appearance grew haggard and thin. All the food I offered made no difference. And there was little to offer either way, for Father had not brought home meat or fish for several span.

"The shop is not doing well, I'm afraid," he told me when I asked. "I'm sure it is only temporary. Soon the cold season will be upon us, and we will be swamped with customers in need of medicine. Don't you worry."

But the days grew colder, and things didn't seem to improve. Most days he came home with potatoes. Or carrots. Sometimes there were apples. Sometimes there was nothing at all. Our stock of flour ran thin, and he didn't replenish it. Some days there was little to eat but sugar, and I went to bed with my belly aching. My heart bitterly cold and afraid.

My only escape was Mother's rebec, but when I played it for Father now, he was silent, watching me with hooded eyes. His mood growing darker by the days. I was losing him again. And I had no idea what I'd done. We had had trouble with the shop before, I knew that. Dry spells were common enough, and our savings were few. But it had never been so bad as that. So bad that food was hard to come by.

One evening toward the end of Reaping, Father returned home in the early dusk, smiling brightly as he handed me several meat pies and a bottle of fruit wine.

"Tonight, we eat well," he said, his voice light and happy. He had provisions as well; a wheel of cheese, a large sack of potatoes in perfect form, flour. We would have bread at last! There was no meat, but I had long stopped hoping for such things. I stored them all away, my mood bright.

Dinner that night was perfect. The pies were crispy and filling, the wine sweet, and Father's laugh infectious. For the first time in several span I went to bed with my belly full and my heart content. I was so sure that things had turned at last. Surely the shop was back on track. We had _food_. And Father had promised there would be more. Next spring, I could take up the garden again. Perhaps I could even grow enough to sell so we could save some coin. We really only needed to make it through the winter. What had been unthinkable yesterday seemed positively easy now.

The next day, I couldn't find Mother's rebec.

I looked everywhere. I tore up the house, leaving stains of flour behind me like a trail. I dug through my room, the sitting room, even Father's room. I checked the attic. I even looked through every corner of the yard, even though I hadn't been there for days. But there was nothing. It wasn't in the corner of the sitting room, where I had left it two days ago after I last played. It wasn't anywhere.

And there was something more. In the deepest corner of Father's room, buried at the bottom of his sock drawer, was a scrunched-up letter.

It was all official; written on thick parchment and stamped with the seal of the royal court. I spread it out upon his rumpled bed with flour-stained fingers. It did not contain heartfelt greetings.

_Harlan, Son of Beldon, Principal Proprietor of Herbs & Tinctures, Renere_

_This is your final notification on behalf of the Royal Court that you are in default of your obligation to pay taxes on the property thus listed above. The sum owed, with all accrued interest, as of the current date of the 1st day of Reaping, is 3 royals, 2 nobles, and 1 round._

_We regret to inform you that because your account has been past due as of the 1st of Caitelyn, and you have made no attempts to settle your debt during this time, there will be no further extensions nor leniencies. You have until the end of the span to bring the payment to the Court. If you have not done so by the morning of the 12th day of Reaping, then we will regretfully have no choice but to take possession of the property listed above to cover the losses of His Majesty, King Roderic Calanthis. You will lose all titles of ownership, as well as the ability to operate a business within the city of Renere and all its surrounding counties for the next 5 years as penalty._

_The Court accepts payments delivered in person in the mornings, between the days of Luten and Cendling._

_We thank you for your cooperation._

_Steward Aldrich, Scribe and Advisor to the Treasury of the Royal Court_

I looked up from the letter, my hands trembling, and stared around the empty room.

"Tehlu Anyway…" I whispered weakly.

 _Four months behind on the King's taxes._ It was an _obscene_ amount of money. More than Father brought home in three months during a good season. Had things been this bad all the while? Father had never said a word. I cursed again. It was the 38th day of Reaping. Had Father taken the money to the court? He'd had money enough for food last night. Surely he'd paid off the debt.

 _Where_ was Mother's rebec…?

A sick feeling stole through my stomach, taking my breath with it. No. It _couldn't_ be. Before I knew it, I had donned my coat and hurried out of the house.

It had been months since I had walked the streets that led to the apothecary. I had not been in the shop since before Denna had died. I had been too busy; first grieving, then minding the house. The shop had become Father's sanctuary. I hurried through the streets, my breath coming in sharp bursts in the chilly air. Fallow was nearly here. Winter was coming.

I slowed as I turned onto the street which housed the apothecary. I was afraid. Terrified of what I would see when I reached it. And yet I _had_ to see. I inched along the cobblestones, drawing nearer to its familiar windows. _I had to know._

One glance was enough.

The shop was dark. There were heavy iron chains hanging upon the door, held together with a lock that looked weighty enough to do damage to a person if thrown. There was a note stuck to the door, declaring the property "SEIZED! By order of the Royal Court." The sign was weathered. Wrinkled in patches. As if it had seen several rains and dried, and seen them again. Even the chains were colored with the beginnings of rust.

_How long… How long had it been?_

I stepped closer, my heart sinking, and pressed my nose against the window glass. The shop was empty. Soulless. The shelves bare. The floor piled with empty boxes and scraps of paper. I could see a broken cup on the counter Father had once manned, tipped on its side. Its handle shattered.

I stepped back numbly, my mind whirling like a broken symphony. It couldn't be. How could it have happened? How could I not have known?

_Where was Father?_

Darkness was settling around me, dusk creeping along the street in twilight tendrils, but I couldn't think where to go.

Where was he going when he left for the shop each day? _Why hadn't he told me?_

Tehlu. _Were we going to starve?_

I turned, barely aware in my daze, and stepped straight into an elderly man who had been passing behind me.

"Watch it!" he hissed, hitting me across the ankles with his cane as he stumbled. The pain was sharp. It snapped me back to reality in an instant.

"I'm sorry!" I gasped, trying to regain my footing as I quickly backed away. He stared me down, scowling.

"Children these days," he scoffed, waving his cane threateningly in my direction. "No bleedin' manners. What you standin' in the middle of the street for, eh? Didn't your mother teach you no sense?"

I felt like someone had grabbed my heart and squeezed, until there was barely anything left.

"T-the apothecary," I managed, backing away until my back pressed against the empty glass window. "I was looking for…"

"What, _this_ one?" He laughed at that. "Good luck with that, girl. It's gone. And good riddance, too." He shook his head with a scowl. "Bleedin' waste of space that was. And it's no better now. Sittin' there all empty. Have to walk all the way to Tehlu Town for my herbs now."

"What happened to it?"

The old man glared at me, as if I were a horrible nuisance. Though he seemed perfectly content to vent away for all that.

"Don't you see the bloody sign? Don't tell me you can't read. Children these days." He spat on the ground in disgust. "Useless. The court went and took it away, didn't they? You see, it says 'seized,' don't you? Didn't pay his taxes, that one. Huge surprise." He scoffed.

"W-why?" I breathed, my hands trembling.

"Why?" he repeated, looking at me incredulously. "Lord and Lady, girl. Did your mother climb out from under a rock before she sent you here? Bleedin' place's been no good for months. Unless you're on the market for denner. They haven't had shit to sell for a bent penny since Solace."

"What?" The voice that left my mouth didn't feel like my own. A cold like I had never known stole through me, encasing all my limbs in ice. Selling denner? _Denner resin?_ Father? It was absurd. Illegal. He would _never_. "That— That can't be…"

"I'm tellin' you it is, ain't I? Mind your betters, girl. Tehlu hold me, children… You'll have to run along to Tehlu Town if you want medicine. Bloody sweet eaters. Overrunnin' the entire city. We'll be well in it come midwinter…" He stalked off, muttering acidly to himself.

I stood by the empty window long after he left, the street growing steadily busier around me as night fell. A hundred people bustled past me, carrying bags, holding hands, hurrying to homes full of warmth and light where loved ones waited.

I had never felt so alone.

Father was nowhere to be found when I stepped into the house. I moved through its dark and empty spaces, flitting through the shadows of rooms I had once known. A sitting room. A kitchen. A half-made loaf of bread, abandoned on the counter. A family had lived here once. Had laughed here. A father. A mother. Two daughters. A happy family.

Music had filled these spaces until they came alive. The music of Mother's rebec. Of Denna's twinkling chatter. Of Father's booming laugh.

And now this house stood empty. A monument. Memorializing the family that had once walked its halls and made it home. What were we now? Did we exist outside of the husk we called home anymore? Or was its carcass woven out of lies?

The old man's words… I didn't want to believe them. _How could I?_ But still, I walked from room to room, searching. I didn't want them to be true, but Father was nowhere to be found and the apothecary stood empty. I didn't dare accept the weight of them. What did the old man know, anyway? But I thought of all I knew of sweet eaters, and of how Father hadn't seemed to feel it when he held his hand to the fire. Of his sudden easy smile in the wake of tragedy. Had his teeth _always_ been so white?

Why was it that he had brought home so much sugar and so little flour?

I slammed my hand against the wall in bitter anger, and the stinging pain echoed across my palm long after the wave of fury receded, splashing tears across my cheeks as it went. I slid down to the floor and sat there for a long while, trembling as the tears swept through me. It felt like all of me, the entirety of my _soul_ , was pouring out from my eyes. Perhaps this wound was just too deep. Too hard to heal. It took me a long while to cry myself into silence.

When I finally climbed to my weary feet, I was empty. My eyes felt as if they had been wrung dry. My stomach was a void, aching with hunger. I was so thirsty that my lips felt cracked and torn. There was hardly air to breathe left in me. But there was nothing for it. I couldn't muster up the energy to do anything more than stumble into Father's room. To carry on with this pointless quest, where every step forward was like a wound being torn open. I'd bleed out if I kept going.

But what did I care for blood? I had already seen enough to drown in.

So I sat upon Father's floor and sifted through the piles of things I worked so hard to keep clean, searching. I must have dug through them for hours. I must have sat there in a stupor until the sun rose, bathing the room in crimson light. For all my efforts, I didn't find a thing. No suspicious packets of whitish powder. No stacks of hidden coins. No secret letters that explained everything awaiting my discovery. No. There was nothing at all. Nothing to prove what I was searching for. And yet I knew it for the truth.

It was midmorning before I realized that Father had never come home.


	10. Folly

It was early afternoon when I found Grandmother outside the church in Tehlu Town. It had been a while since I had seen her, for Reaping was often one of the busier months at the church where she spent her free time volunteering. Her face lit up when she saw me hurrying in her direction, before a frown creased her brow.

"What is it, child?" she said as I threw myself into her arms. She cupped my face, looking me over. "Tehlu hold me, you're all skin and bones. Have you slept? What has happened?"

"Grandmother," I choked out. "It's everything. It's all broken and ruined. I thought it was better, but nothing's better. Nothing's ever _been_ better—"

"Hush," she said gently, pulling me against her chest until my hot tears dripped onto the thick fabric of her coat. "It's all right. Come with me. Let us have lunch. And some drinking chocolate. And you will tell me what has happened. What do you say?"

"Okay," I whispered, nodding, as I sniffled against her chest. "Okay."

She led me to a café a few streets away. It was past the lunch hour, so the crowd inside was thin and we had no difficulty finding a table in an empty corner. I played nervously with my napkin while Grandmother ordered bread and salad for us to share, and bowls of thick vegetable soup loaded with bacon. And, as promised, drinking chocolate. The first sip of it spread a calming warmth all through my chest. I closed both hands around the cup, feeling the heat of it in my fingers as I raised it to my mouth again.

"Now, child, what is this about?" Grandmother asked, after the food had been brought to our table and I dug in ravenously, too hungry to find spare energy to talk. It was the best meal I'd had all month. "Is there trouble? Last I saw you and your father, you were both doing so well."

"Not so well as that," I managed, the bitterness creeping into my tone. "It's all a lie. _Everything_!"

"What do you mean?" She frowned, pushing the bread at me as she watched me slurp at my soup. "Careful, it's hot."

It was the best soup I had ever tasted, even if it burned my throat on the way down.

"Father," I gasped, and felt the tears spring into my eyes again. I wiped at them angrily. "Father _lied_."

And then it was spilling out of me. Everything. The sad story hanging in the air between us until it was heavy as iron. Father's dark moods. The missing dresses. The _rebec_. The letter I had found. The empty shop. The old man's words. And how I didn't want to believe them, but how much sense they made the longer I thought of the things Father had done. Of how white his smile had grown over the past months. What did I know of denner? Nearly nothing. But even so, I knew that.

When I finished speaking, Grandmother's face was hard and still as stone. She didn't speak for a long while, her fingers working at the edges of the crumpled letter I had pulled from my pocket. It seemed to resist all her efforts to lay it flat. When she finally spoke, her voice was weary and thin. For the first time since I had ever known her, I saw an old woman looking back at me.

"Are you sure?" she asked me softly. "About the denner? It is not a thing to say lightly, child."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I'm not _sure_ of anything, Grandmother. But I _know_. I know _him_. And all this… this isn't…"

"It's all right," she said. "He is my son. I know him too."

We sat in silence for a while after that, the remains of the food untouched between us. The hunger that had plagued me before was gone, and the food felt heavy in my stomach.

"You will come stay with us," Grandmother said finally, her tone as sad and weary as I'd ever heard it. "What you have told me concerns me terribly. Your grandfather and I will speak to Harlan. If what you fear is true, then we will offer what help we can. If he can be saved, we will do it."

I nodded in silence, words seemingly too hard to conjure up. And then, because it wasn't nearly enough, I stumbled to my feet and walked to her side of the table, hugging her fiercely. She held me, her arms tight around me. It was only in the safety of her embrace that I finally felt warm.

Grandmother and I were halfway to her house when a woman caught up to us, horribly out of breath for chasing us down. I recognised her vaguely as one of Grandmother's church friends, though I had no idea of her name. Her blonde hair and fair complexion made her look positively Aturan.

"Nulia!" she panted, and Grandmother stopped, pulling me along with her. We stood on the street, waiting for the woman to catch up. She drew to a halt before us, bending over to catch her breath.

"Tehlu, you're so hard to find," she gasped. "I've checked your house, and you weren't there at all. I've looked everywhere!"

"What is it?" Grandmother said, frowning. "I'm afraid I'm rather busy. My granddaughter has come to visit, as you can see."

"Priest Jared has requested to see you."

"What about?" Grandmother asked, her frown deepening. "I have just seen him this morning."

"I know," the woman said. "But it's rather urgent, apparently. He's received some news about the crop donation and insisted I find you straight away."

Grandmother sighed and turned to me. "Would you like to take a walk to the church?"

"Um," I said, faltering. I hadn't stepped inside the church since I lost Mother. And before that, it had been Denna. I didn't think I could stand to look at the building anymore. "I…"

"It's all right if you don't," Grandmother said gently, seeming to understand. "Run along to the house and tell your grandfather you're visiting. We'll talk it all through when I return. I won't be long."

I nodded, letting go of her hand. And then the Aturan woman hurried her away, and I was standing in the street on my own.

Grandfather wasn't home when I knocked on the familiar yellow door. I stood outside, hugging my arms around myself in the chill autumn air, and waited. I had a key, but in my exhausted state that morning, I had left it at the house, along with my hat and gloves. Eating with Grandmother had served to wake me slightly, but as I stood trembling in the cold, the exhaustion of the night before crept over me again. I paced back and forth, blowing on my cupped hands and wondering how long it would be before Grandfather or Grandmother returned.

After half an hour, I decided to go to the church. Surely Grandmother was nearly done. I could wait for her in the antechamber — that would be warmer than the street. I could handle that much. Maybe. I walked slowly, dragging my feet, hoping I would meet her along the way and we could simply return together. But the streets that led to the church were Grandmother-free, and the church itself was as imposing as ever, its tall grey walls reaching relentlessly for the sky. I stood outside for a long while, trying to work up the nerve to climb the seven steps that led to its thick wooden door. The wheel that hung on its face loomed over me, threatening to break free of its bindings and smother me whole.

In the end, I couldn't do it. There was too much pain in it. It was as if the building was built of memories instead of stones. Mortared with my tears.

I turned away, walking aimlessly through the streets. I had walked several blocks before I realized I was following the familiar path home. To what had once _been home_. Would it ever be home again? But that was well enough. I hadn't taken any of my things when I ran off that morning. I could do it now. By the time I was done packing, Grandmother would hopefully be finished with the church. And if not, at least I would be warmer for it.

I gave the house a sad glance, wavering outside its familiar facade. The sunny yellow paint was peeling, revealing the worn wood beneath. The green shutters that framed the windows were old. They squealed terribly when I pushed at them. The windows themselves were drafty. The sitting room prone to filling with smoke. I had never grown good at cleaning out the chimney. Why had I ever thought that I could mind a whole house? It was mad. I was only twelve.

But when I closed my eyes I could see Mother and Denna in the kitchen. I could remember all four of us sitting around the fire. I could hear the distant strains of music on the air. It was the last place where we had all been together. I screwed up my face against the rush of memories and stepped forward, pushing open the door into the empty house.

Oh, how I wish. How I wish that it had been empty.

I heard them before I saw them. The thrum of their voices drifted from the kitchen, clashing together in a swirl of hard edges. I paused, my ears straining as I tried to work out the words. The air hummed with the energy of the argument, so sharp I felt I would cut myself if I charged in blindly. I nearly turned back right there. Whatever this was, I wasn't sure I wanted any part of it. I could run now, leave it all behind. But then the conversation drew to a sudden halt, and I heard Father call my name.

I paused, torn between running back out into the street and the familiar timbre of his voice. He was _back_. He wanted me.

I stepped forward, my feet drawing me to the kitchen. I want to say that it was impulsive. That I didn't stop to think before my heart pulled me along. Maybe it's even partly true. But I didn't forget my discoveries of the night before. They were at my back the whole time, screaming loudly for all their worth. Reminding me that Father was well out of my reach. But perhaps I'm as stubborn as Denna after all, for I kept walking all the same.

"Ah! There she is! Home at last!"

Father smiled when he saw me, his voice nearly as bright and sharp as his teeth. He sounded positively euphoric. The half-heard argument a fleeting shadow. "Come here, come here." He beckoned at me vigorously, setting his half-empty glass down on the table. I could see a dark amber liquid swirling within. "Let us have a look at you."

I said nothing, looking between Father and the thin man sitting beside him. I couldn't see much of his clothes, for a black cloak sheathed him whole. His dark hair was pulled back, revealing a narrow face with a chin that jutted out to a sharp point. His mouth was a hard line across his pale skin. And his eyes… they were dark. Dark as empty holes. Unreadable from this distance, but I could see them trained on me. He ran a finger along the rim of his own glass as he eyed me in silence.

"What are you standing there for?" Father said, gesturing at me again. "We've been waiting for you for hours." He turned to the stranger. "Here she is, like I told you."

"Yes. There she is." The man sounded pleased. He smiled thinly as he continued to look me over, and I felt a chill roll down my spine. It was almost as if he were sizing me up, like a piece of meat at market.

I took a tiny step back, my heart suddenly coming alive in my chest, though I couldn't pinpoint why.

"Always home, this one," Father said, his voice growing louder. He picked up his glass and took a large sip before slapping it down, hard, on the table. The thud seemed to echo through the entire room. "Spends all day sitting around, I tell you. Except the one time I need her." He laughed at that, the sound bouncing off the walls and ceiling. The man didn't join in. "Left me high and dry. Where'd you go, eh?"

I took another step back, my hands shaking a bit. "To see Grandmother."

"That nosy old hag?" He laughed again. I could smell the alcohol on his breath from across the room. "What for?"

The words cut me. To hear such ugly things come out of his mouth… He couldn't have hurt me more if he had stabbed me.

"How could you?" I cried, my fury rising. "How can you say that about Grandmother?!"

He seemed perplexed at my anger. "Calm down," he said, half rising out of his chair. He stumbled as he took a step.

"You're drunk!" I yelled angrily.

He smiled. "Guilty. You always were a clever child. Not like your sister."

I seethed at that. He wasn't Father anymore. _He wasn't anyone I knew at all._

"LIAR!" I screamed at him, angry tears welling in my eyes. "I hate you! I saw the apothecary. It's _gone, isn't it!_ "

A shadow crossed his face for just a moment, vanishing before I could really look. He shrugged. "Guilty again."

His casual attitude made me even angrier.

"You've been doing denner!" I yelled, my voice rising shrilly as I flung all my accusations at him. "You sold Mother's dresses! YOU SOLD HER REBEC! HOW COULD YOU?"

He didn't look remotely bothered. He turned to the man, who was still sitting at the table, watching the drama unfold. "She's so awful clever. Didn't I say she was clever?"

"Yes, I think she'll do wonderfully," the man said, nodding. He raised his glass to his lips, draining it in one large gulp before setting it back down on the table. "But this has taken long enough, Harlan. Let's get to it. I have a long road ahead."

"Right, right." A shadow crossed Father's face again, then the mad, white smile reappeared, bright as ever. It was unnerving. Father turned back to me. "I'm afraid I find myself at a crossroads. You see, without the apothecary, there isn't enough money for us both anymore. Food. Clothes. Wood for the winter. You understand, don't you?" He looked apologetic.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I said bitterly, wiping at my angry tears. I shot a glance at the man, who had gotten to his feet beside Father. He was quite tall standing up.

Father actually managed to look uncomfortable through his drunken stupor.

"You are a young woman now," Father said flatly. "And I think it's time you started earning your keep." He gestured at the man, who stepped in my direction. "Don't worry, I've arranged it all. This is Derren. You'll be working with him from now on."

"What?" I said blankly, staring at the man. He was close enough now that I could see his eyes. Black though and through. They didn't smile when his mouth twisted up. Suddenly, I was very, very afraid. "No, I'm… I'm going to go live with Grandmother and Grandfather. I'm just here to get my things."

"What?" Father said, letting out a laugh. "You will do no such thing. You will be leaving with Derren."

I backed away. "I _won't_."

"Listen, girl, don't be difficult," Derren said with a weary sigh. He took several steps forward, until he stood right beside me. I started to back away, but he reached out and grabbed my arm just below my shoulder. His grip was surprisingly hard for his thin frame. I gasped. "Your father owes me quite a bit of money, and you will be working hard to repay it."

"No, let me go!" I twisted and pulled, trying to get free. "I'm not going!"

He sighed and squeezed my arm, his fingers digging into my skin. I let out a painful gasp. "I would prefer it if you came along quietly," he said. "We have a long journey, you see, and if you insist on misbehaving, it will be rather unpleasant." His lips curled. He shot a glance at Father. "Her things?"

"In her room. I'll get them."

I stared around wildly, my eyes meeting Father's as he turned to leave the room. The laugh had left his face as he watched Derren hold on to me, but his eyes were black as pitch. His teeth white as paper. He said nothing as he stepped past me.

I pulled hard on my arm the moment he was gone, breaking free of Derren's grip and surprising even myself. I scurried away, putting the table between us. He sighed.

"I won't go!" I cried. My hands balled up into fists as I looked around wildly. The only way from the kitchen was past him, through the door. If only I could distract him. If I could get past before Father came back…

Derren approached the table and placed both hands on it. He leaned in, looking at me hard. I eyed the distance to the door behind him. I could slip past. He wasn't as fast as me. I could dart past him, run out of the kitchen, and straight through the door. But I had to do it now. Now.

"You will come with me," Derren said, his tone icy.

"No!" I said, shaking my head violently. I slid along the table. He matched me, the distance between us staying even.

"You do not seem to understand the situation," Derren said flatly. "I will explain. Your father has borrowed money from me. In repayment, he has offered you." He gave me an icy smile. "So you will come with me, and you will do what you are told. For as long as I say. I'm afraid there is no other alternative."

"Father can pay you back himself," I said, my eyes tearing up.

Derren shrugged, his eyes trailing across me again. "Perhaps, perhaps not. But for you, I have offered more beside."

I inhaled sharply at that, shrinking back from the table.

"You will be beautiful," he said softly. "I see it already. I see what your face will become. With hair like that." He eyed my thick, dark locks. Nearly shoulder-length now. His gaze was so penetrating it seemed to stare right through me. "With your eyes all full of fire. Men will fall to pieces before you."

"No…" I shook my head, my heart turning to ice as the tears began to make their way down my cheeks. I eyed the door again. The job he wanted me for; I thought I could see the shape of it closing in around us like a giant bird of prey. I thought of _the_ _word_. That cruel one. The one that had followed us down the street in whispers, passed between neighbors and one-time friends until it became Denna's shadow in the days before she lost her grip on the earth. I had seen her cry about it more than once.

" _It isn't true, D…"_

She had said it so many times.

" _I was never some… it wasn't like that."_

" _He said he loved me."_

"I won't do it," I gasped, backing further from the table. "I won't be some… _whore_."

Before he could respond, I ran. I darted out from behind the table and bolted for the door. I was past him in a flash, his curse tumbling into the air behind me. My feet pounded hard against the floor. I was through to the sitting room. I gasped, the air coming in short bursts as I wended between the couch and chairs that surrounded the fireplace, nearly tripping over the low table in the dim light. My chest burned as I ran furiously for the door. I was _there_. I crashed against it, pushing hard with my shoulder as I twisted at the knob.

It didn't budge.

_Locked._

The simple realization stabbed at me. I had not locked the door when I stepped into the house. I hadn't even closed it all the way, distracted by the argument in the kitchen.

And there was only one person who had left the room. Who could have done it. The thought chilled me. Brought me down to depths I didn't even know I could feel.

It felt as if my whole world had shattered. Had broken in ways I couldn't have even imagined.

I struggled frantically with the lock, my tears blinding me as I drew in frantic gasping breaths. My fingers felt thick and useless, stumbling against the lock that I had worked a thousand times before. As if they had forgotten how to do it. My mind was numb, overwhelmed by panic.

"Come on," I sobbed, my hands twisting at the knob. "Please!"

There was a sudden click. The sweetest sound that I had ever heard. I turned the door handle and pushed at the door in one fluid motion, letting it swing wide as the frigid wind burst into the room. I breathed in, letting it fill my lungs as I lunged forward into the winter air.

Freedom.

There was a sharp pain as my hair pulled against my scalp, and I let out a gasp as I was dragged back into the house. My eyes watered and I started to scream but a hand was clamped over my mouth at the same moment that the door slammed shut with a terrible bang, plunging the house into dim darkness again. It echoed through me, shaking my bones. I could feel the pressure of his arm across my chest, forcing me against him.

I blinked, trying to adjust to the dimmer light as I struggled to bite the hand pressed firmly against my mouth. There was an angry curse and he released me, spinning me around by the shoulders and shoving me roughly against the door. My head banged hard against the wood and my vision flashed dizzyingly. When I could see again, Derren's face was inches from my own. He leaned in, until his breath was hot on my face. It reeked of Father's whiskey. But his eyes did not look drunk at all.

They were clear and hard. Cold as ice.

"You had to get that out of your system," he said calmly. "That's all right. I understand. This is an adjustment for you. Now there is something _you_ need to understand." He leaned closer, until his nose was almost touching mine.

"If you try to run before your father's debt is paid, I will kill you. It is that simple. _If_ I do not find you, I will come back here and I will kill your family in your place. I will kill your father, your grandmother, and your grandfather. Everyone you care about will be gone, and then you will starve on the street until you join them. From now on, everything you do, you will do at my request. Do. You. Understand?"

I stared, watching the way the dim light didn't touch his eyes.

"Well?" he said harshly, shaking me until the back of my head hit the door again.

I thought of Grandmother, coming home from the church to look for me. Of how she'd ask Grandfather if he'd seen me. How his brow would wrinkle between his gentle eyes as he frowned. Then I thought of Father, making sure to lock the door of the house as he quietly left the kitchen. The last loose end on his list of how to get rid of me. I thought of them all, dead. Blood-soaked like Mother. Like Denna. All gone because of me. I couldn't bear it. I closed my eyes against the flood of tears and nodded silently, feeling the cold trails against my cheeks.

"Say it," he hissed. "Say, 'I understand, Lord Derren.'"

"I-I understand," I whispered. I could feel tears sliding over my lips. I tasted salt. I opened my eyes, wishing I could keep them closed forever. "Lord Derren."

He gave me a frigid smile. "Excellent. We'll get along just fine, won't we?"

I nodded, my lips trembling. A sudden silence surrounded us then, thick as tar. He released me, his movements deliberate. Then, without saying a word, he took hold of my right hand and slipped off Mother's ring.

"No, plea—"

He slapped my face, and the rest of my plea turned into a sharp gasp. My eyes watered anew. He didn't bother to reply. He merely looked at me, his eyes empty and hard, and pocketed the ring. The last trace of Mother, gone. I broke inside, my heart sagging in on itself.

"Everything all right?"

Father's voice was like a memory of a dream on the edge of waking. A final wisp of an imagined world before the harsh reality of daylight tore it to shreds. Derren moved away, and I saw Father standing at the far end of the room. He was holding a small case in one hand. The things he had packed for me.

"All perfect." Derren's voice was a drawl as he turned to Father. "Just having a talk with your girl about her new responsibilities." He frowned at the case. "Is that all of it? I won't be wasting money on clothes unnecessarily because you're holding out on her things."

"This is everything she's got. You can look for yourself."

"You've wasted enough of my time as it is." Derren slid a hand into the pocket of his cloak and withdrew a coin purse and a modest cloth bag, setting both down on the edge of the small table that Mother had picked out to frame the door. The purse made a rather substantial _thunk_. "As we discussed."

Father nodded and stepped closer. He handed Derren the case and hefted the purse, feeling its weight in his palm. Then he reached for the cloth bag, taking it as gently as a mother would hold her newborn. "I thank you."

"Don't waste it all at once," Derren said flatly. He pushed at the door, one of his hands gripping firmly at my arm again. "Or do. I don't care."

The door swung open and he pushed me through it ahead of him. I stumbled out of the house, squinting at the sudden brightness. I turned, my eyes drawn to Father's shadow standing in the door. He was looking at us, his expression unreadable in the harsh light.

It was the last time I would see him. I knew it in my bones. And all I felt was a numb sort of anger. Years later, I would know it for grief.

"She sings!" Father called out suddenly. His voice didn't sound euphoric or confident anymore. Looking back, I can almost say it was uncertain.

Or maybe that's just what I want to believe. Maybe he never had any regrets at all.

"Is that so?" Derren said. He gave me a contemplative look, his hand still firmly on my arm. "Such things would have been good bargaining chips, my friend. But you did lose the apothecary, after all…"

And with that he turned and walked away with a smirk, leaving Father standing silently on the threshold, his face hidden in shadow. With Derren's grip like iron on my arm, I had no choice but to follow.

* * *

To this day, I don't know if Father knew the fate he had consigned me to. I still lie awake at night, wrapped in the claws of dark dreams, and pray that somehow he didn't. Despite everything, that is the one small mercy I would give him. He was my father. He loved me. _Had_ loved me, once. Before the denner took him and swept away everything he cared about. Grief is a monster, and addiction is a heatless beast. For all that, I want to believe that he tried. That he at least tried…

If nothing else, I still thank him for that one last desperate comment. A slip of conscience. Guilt. Whatever it was. It may well have made all the difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter I feel compelled to apologize for... to poor D especially. But we're also 1/3 of the way through this now, so if you're following along with D's story, thank you. As Kvothe said at the end of WMF, things get darker now. But we already know that Denna is a survivor.


	11. The Red Mare

There is little I dare to dwell on of the next three years that became my life. Even now I can barely think of them. Even as the last traces of denner slip away and I can feel the edges of my weary mind stirring with remembering. These fickers of memory are so sharp. Raw lines burned straight into my heart. Oh, how they cut.

But there is always a cost.

And there's a cost to this denner-induced euphoria, which has colored in the outline of my perfect day and wrapped it in cotton so thick I felt like nothing could hurt me. The cost of remembering. And bearing this one, over and over again… bearing it, when the things you wish to forget are heavy as Tehlu's iron wheel and chains besides… I reckon I can understand how it would drive a man to sell everything he owns — even his own daughter — just to stay in the forgetting. Longer. As long as it takes. Until there's no time left for the remembering. Until even the mind that held those memories you fear is gone. And then you stay anyway. Because the taste of sugar is all you have. All you are. And all you were… is gone.

* * *

Of the long journey Derren took me on after we left home I remember little. There was the dark interior of a coach. Long hours on the road. A flash of a sign announcing we were leaving Renere, the heart of the kingdom. Miles rolling by on the King's road. Smaller roads. Endless hills. A new wagon. I can't say how many days it took. I know the name of the city where he brought me, nestled up against the southeastern mountains. Mirien. but I didn't learn it until much later.

I wish I could forget it all. How he brought me to The Red Mare, which some called a tavern, or a boarding house, or the house with the red doors. But I knew it for what it truly was: a brothel.

It was bad in ways that I didn't know things could be. I lost myself in those ways. Lost pieces of myself before I knew how tightly I should hold on to them. Every day there, I lost a little bit more. It is like wearing a dress. A favorite dress that you wear over and over again, until the fabric turns threadbare. Until it falters and rips along the seams, leaving holes that bare your skin. And then bits of that fabric find themselves drifting into cracks and crevices, hidden away like a trail of breadcrumbs that leads nowhere. In the same way, I wore myself thin and ragged, until my very skin, my mind, and my heart were full of holes. I left traces of myself there; tangled within the rich fabrics, brushed along the walls. My voice lost in the swell of music, laughs, and drunken shouts that made up the soul of that house.

Why did I stay? There are so many reasons. I was young, and carrying so much grief it left little room to plan an escape. I was afraid. I believed him when he said he would kill everyone I knew. But more so, I was afraid to come back home. I couldn't even begin to imagine the journey. And what if I did? Father had made it clear he didn't want me anymore. I was disposable. Just another thing he could sell for denner. He had picked it over me. And Grandmother and Grandfather… would they still want me? To live in their house? I was broken now. Used. Damaged goods. Like the girls on the corner who we had avoided as we passed by in the street, our eyes resolutely pointed away. Grandmother had never thought much of them. What would she think of me?

And perhaps I deserved it. For sending Mother into the dark with my cruel words. And wasn't it my fault that Father went after her? Perhaps this was my punishment, well earned and awarded. As it should be.

It was easier to stay. It wasn't even as bad as it could have been. At least not at first. I can almost say that it was Father who saved me.

I was young when they took me. Only twelve. And while the Mare catered to all sorts, not many sorts skewed that young. So while I spent a lot of time "training in the arts" — as they called it — with the other girls, I spent many of my evenings singing in the taproom. Performing for the clientele. It was much better than any of the alternatives offered. Better than being thrown to the men right then, or partaking in some wretched sham of begging on the street. My voice pleased them, and this in turn pleased Derren, who stopped by the Mare every so often. He would sit in the taproom and watch me for hours, making it a point to compliment me for my performance.

"A rare find," he called me. He would touch my cheek when he said it, smirking proprietarily. Like he owned me, all the way down to the marrow of my bones.

I learned a lot about Derren in my first year at the Mare. I learned that it was not the only such establishment he owned. There were many others, spread across all of Vintas. There were three such places in Renere alone, but he had taken me far away. Pulled me across days and miles, to a city where no one would think to find me. Aside from his pleasure houses, as he called them, he had other business ventures. I know denner was one of them. He traded in gold and favors both. And debts owed were his favorite. What he did with Father and me was as second-nature to him as breathing, and in the time I spent at the Mare, I saw many girls come on my heels, their faces tear-stained and their spirits broken. I was hardly the only one who knew what it felt to be sold.

So I stayed. We all stayed. There was never really a choice; not one worth making.

But I wasn't me anymore. I wasn't Mother's daughter. Denna's sister. From then on, they called me Dyra, because the name Mother had given me was too pedestrian. Not suitable for a girl of the Mare, the finest establishment of its sort in all of Mirien. Dyra wasn't some shabby apothecarist's daughter. She was beautiful. Pale, with thick black hair that had grown long with time, and eyes as dark as coffee. Exotic. Harder to trace if her grandparents came looking. But Dyra didn't have grandparents. She didn't have anybody.

I embraced Dyra. I wore her face like a mask. Wrapped myself in her skin. It was easier that way. Easier than remembering who I had been. What I lost. With Dyra, there was only music, and the things wrapped up in it. There was kissing, too. And pain that left scars on my skin. But I didn't have to think about that so much. Not as long as I could sing and forget who I was. And with my singing, it was a good year before I touched a man. But eventually even that small bit of grace ran out. Like most things do. And then there were other things to bear. Things that happened between twisted sheets above the taproom and left me in tears afterward. I don't wish to remember them, though they broke me and then rebuilt me into who I am now. But Dyra was strong. Strong enough to hold them all.

Until she couldn't anymore.

* * *

It was Caitelyn. Spring had crept upon us in moments over the last span, warming the house from the outside in. The sun had been shining brightly all day, casting harsh shadows across our doorways. It was Felling night; a busy time for us under normal circumstances, and more so in the spring, when the sun teased the masses out of the comfort of their homes. Love was in the air, they said. Not that anyone ever found love here. But still, they came.

So far that day, I had been with two men. The first wanted only to talk. He came in the afternoon and sought me out for my company. His name was Alender, and by then I knew him well. He sat at the bar and ordered several tumbles of whiskey. I counted three in the time I sat with him. The barman gave me water, though he and I called it Vintish Sagerose Wine, and Alender paid three pennies per glass. I spent two hours in his company as he droned on drunkenly about his woes. The same every time. His wife never listened. She had threatened to leave him again. Another man had been chosen as Stable Master in his place. His job didn't appreciate him. His job _never_ appreciated him. It was dull. But not altogether unpleasant as these things go. As evening fell, he settled with the bar for both our drinks and my time and stumbled out into the falling dusk, too drunk for anything more that night. I would see none of the money.

The next man wanted more. He wanted a room with silken sheets and a girl between them. Any girl, so long as she was beautiful. I was free, so I would do. And once he had the things he'd asked for, he took everything I had to offer. He took it quickly. Roughly. It hurt, but mostly on the outside. I smiled and told him that he made me feel things I haven't ever felt before. When he left, he placed a silver bit in my hand.

Two days ago, I had turned fifteen.

I took as much time as I dared after he left, sneaking off to my small space under the eaves so I could squirrel away my coin. I kept my small sack of rainy day money stored under a loose floorboard beneath my bed. It hadn't been loose to begin with, but I had pried it up over time, relentlessly digging at it for brief moments when the attic was empty with a fork I had stolen from the kitchen.

I opened the sack and dropped the silver bit inside. It made a satisfying clink as it joined the rest of the coins. That made nine bits, one quarter bit, one true Cealdish jot, and a handful of pennies — all the coins I had managed to hide away. A positive fortune. I had no idea what to do with it.

At that moment I heard hurried footsteps approaching the attic door, and a second later it swung forward to admit Elin. I had time only to shove the sack of coins down the front of my dress and straighten up before she hurried into the room. Her eyes locked on mine and she offered me a small smile as she made for her bed.

"Are you hiding?"

"Completely," I said easily. "I'm contemplating a nap, even."

"Lord Derren's downstairs." She dug through her bedside table until she found several beaded bracelets and slipped them on her wrists. "He's in a mood."

"A shit mood?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Drunk."

"Ah." I sighed. Lord Derren drunk meant only one thing.

"He's asked for you."

"Damn," I cursed bitterly. "I've already done two today!"

"I know," she said quietly, her tone sympathetic. She brushed her fingers through her long wheat-colored hair, and the bracelets clicked lightly on her wrists. "But your first one only talked. And Herod saw the other one go. He's looking for you. I'm sure he'll send someone here in a minute…" She gave me a significant glance.

"Did you even need your bracelets?" I asked, stepping past her to reach the door.

She shook her head and shot me a shy smile. "They're terribly annoying, if you must know."

"Thanks, Elin."

I left her there and started down the narrow stairs, pushing the small sack of coins further into my corset. I would have to remove it myself, away from Derren's prying fingers. I cursed again. But there was nothing for it. As much as I trusted Elin, a secret only stayed one so long as nobody knew.

I ran into Herod at the foot of the stairs. He scowled at me, his displeasure readily apparent on his greedy face.

"Where have you been?"

"Cleaning up." I gave him a level stare. "Or don't you want me to look pretty?"

"Don't fuck with me," he snapped. "Your last appointment left over thirty minutes ago."

"Yeah?" I kept my face expressionless. "Well he made a mess of things. And I had some calls of nature to attend to—"

He slapped me hard across the face. "Don't get smart with me, girl." I backed away, my cheek stinging. He leaned closer. "One day, I'm going to shut that smart mouth of yours."

"Try it," I hissed. My cheek ached, and I longed to bring my hand to it, but I kept it still at my side. "What will Lord Derren say, if I can't sing anymore?"

"Little bitch." He glared at me. "Go on then. He's in the taproom, waiting for you."

"Great." I took a step forward but he held out an arm to stop me. "Just a second. Your tip?"

My heart skipped half a beat. "He didn't leave one."

"No?" Herod leaned closer, until his face was inches from mine. I could feel his hot breath on my face. When he spoke, his voice was a menacing hiss. "I don't believe you."

I held his gaze, my thoughts flashing to the bag of coins stuffed into my corset. Somewhere on the inside, I shuddered. On the outside, I remained cool. "Too bad," I said calmly. "It's true. I told you, he made a mess of things. And left me nothing for the trouble. You should ban him so he doesn't do it again."

He leaned closer, his sour breath overpowering. "If I find out you've been lying to me…"

"Then you'll feel free to search my things and beat me bloody," I said cooly with much more confidence than I felt. " _Excuse me._ " And I pushed past him into the taproom. I didn't look back to see his plump face turn purple with rage. I had seen it enough that my mind could generate it for me.

I found Lord Derren at the bar, and the sight of his pinched face made me even angrier, if that were possible. As much as I hated Herod, he was nobody. Just the manager Derren had hired to oversee the Mare. To oversee _us_ day-to-day. Derren was the one who owned the Mare. Who had stolen me away from my life, broken as it was, and shoved me into a new life here. A life where I was little more than a pinned bug on display, the case open for petting and prodding.

I _hated_ Derren. When I went to bed, I lay awake for hours and hated Derren. When I looked at Herod's ugly face, I was busy hating Derren. And when I looked at Derren… I mostly imagined strangling him with his own long, silky hair. It gave me the ability to look halfway genuine when I smiled at him.

Derren turned around at the sound of my approaching footsteps and smirked in my direction. I gritted my teeth. I smiled.

"Ah, Dyra." He looked positively gleeful. He must have had at least four tumbles of whiskey. Either that, or he had kidnapped another girl for a pittance. "There you are. I've been waiting for nearly an hour."

"Good evening, Lord Derren," I said. I stared at his hair. He had pulled it back and tied it with a silver clasp. It really was very long. "My apologies, I've been entertaining. We've been ever so busy. If only I knew you were waiting…"

"I've heard," he said, his voice as silky as his hair. "An abundance of customers is much of a blessing. Tehlu smiles upon us."

The only way Tehlu would have smiled upon us would be if he were blind. And deaf too.

"Of course," I agreed graciously.

"I was hoping you could make a little time for me," Derren said, his polite words sounding very much like the question they weren't. He reached for the chain around his neck, twisting the familiar ring that hung upon it while he stared into my eyes. "It's been a terribly long time since I've heard you sing."

"Of course," I repeated, pointedly ignoring the jolt in my stomach at the sight of Mother's ring hanging so casually from his neck. I leaned forward, kissing him on the cheek as he rose from the bar. He tasted of willful deceit and children's tears.

I hated it.


	12. Sharp Edges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, this chapter is very important but contains non-con and violence among other potentially triggering things. All warnings listed in the tags.

Derren led me upstairs, his arm proprietarily wrapped around my waist, and into one of the nicer suites on the second floor. It was a beautiful room, objectively. The bed was vast; nearly as wide as the room I had once inhabited. In another life. The sheets were pure white silk. The blanket beautifully embroidered in shades of scarlet and pink. There were large windows, all hung with thick velvet curtains. The entire suite smelled lightly floral, with several vases spread around the space, all stuffed with roses in a rich shade of red. They dotted the edges of my vision wherever I looked. There was an adjacent sitting room with a tasteful set of lounging furniture arranged around a fireplace, where a fire was crackling. There was even a connected washroom. It was the nicest suite we had, reserved only for the highest paying customers. I had only seen it a handful of times.

Derren led me inside, his grip unyielding around my waist, and sat me down on the chaise beside the fire. It was pleasantly warm. There was a bottle of wine waiting on a nearby table, and Derren poured himself a glass. He handed me one too, and I took a small sip. It was no Vintish Sagerose.

"My compliments to Herod," Derren said easily. His voice was loose, on the edge of slurring. "The room is as perfect as ever."

I took a longer sip of the wine and said nothing. If I was going to do this, I may as well be drunk for it. If I drank all the wine in the bottle, could I forget the night altogether? It was one thing to placate man after man, but Derren… Tehlu hold me, I didn't know if I was strong enough for that tonight.

Though that mattered little.

Derren reached over and placed a hand on my thigh. I shuddered inwardly and almost choked on my next sip of wine.

"Herod says you are a force to be reckoned with," Derren said, his hand moving through the folds of my dress. "Always talking back to him now. Is that so? You're always so reserved with me." His hand had found its way beneath the cloth. It felt like ice against my skin. "Are you afraid of me, Dyra?"

"Would you like me to be afraid of you, Lord Derren?" I said. It wasn't really a question.

Even when he was drunker than a virgin sailor, he smiled only with his mouth. His teeth were sharp as knives. "I'm not opposed to a little healthy fear."

He shifted his hand up higher, and I only just refrained from jumping away. "You wanted to hear me sing?"

His smile grew wider. "Certainly."

"I'll stand, if you don't mind," I said, getting to my feet a little too quickly. I forced myself to move with grace. To breathe. I trailed my hand along his face with deliberate intent. I smiled. This was no different from what I had done an hour ago. No different from the last time Derren had brought me to this room. Why did it feel like the end of the world if I kept going? I had to get control of myself _. I had to._ Or it would go very badly for me. "It helps me project."

His face flashed to something hard for just a second before settling back into complacence. "Of course."

He was still in charge. He would let me slip to the end of my leash, as long as it pleased him. His smug expression said so from every orifice.

I didn't say anything more or ask him what song he wanted. I merely took a step back, closed my eyes, and launched into the first verse of _In the Forest Fae_. Felurian. In that moment, I understood her implicitly. Surrounded by men, much like me. Both of us trapped in beautiful prisons, but hers was one of her own making. Her men playthings. In her prison, _she_ was the captor. If only I were strong enough to beguile. To ensnare. To control the men that wanted to take me for their own. I, too, would drive them mad with desire and leave them broken. I would do it gladly. Derren. Herod. All of them. I would break them _apart_.

And if I had that power, Tehlu hold me, I would leave this place. Leave it and never look back.

I had made it as far as the chorus before I felt his hands on me. His breath on my face. He pushed his lips to mine, and the strands of song I had been weaving fell to pieces. My imagined twilight glade shattered. There was no Felurian after all. No forest. Only me. And Derren's hands, touching me in places that should have belonged only to myself, but were free for sale to the highest bidder.

How much more? _How much more could I take?_

His hands were in my bodice before I remembered the bag of coins. Caught like a fish out of water, I struggled against him. It served only to excite him, and he forced my hands away, pushing my dress down to reveal the corset beneath.

"Wait!" I gasped, managing to pry my mouth away from his. "Let me— let me do it. My dress—"

"Tehlu, shut up already," he hissed, pulling me hard against him and kissing my neck before tugging harshly on the sting and ripping my corset off in one sharp motion.

I felt the cloth fall away, baring my chest to the air before his hands were on me. I could barely feel them, my ears tuned for the sound. My heart still. It seemed to take an age for the corset to fall.

And then it did.

There was a metallic thud of coins clattering together, unmistakable even through the layers of fabric. Then silence. Still pressed against him, I closed my eyes and prayed. That the sound wouldn't register. That he was too drunk. Too distracted to notice. If it was Herod, he wouldn't have noticed. But it wasn't Herod. It was Derren.

"What was that?"

His voice was hard. Sharp, even through the layers of alcohol that coated it. I didn't speak. Didn't breathe.

"You heard me, Dyra. What the _fuck_ was that?"

He pushed me roughly away, and I stumbled, nearly falling over the chaise. My eyes followed Derren as he picked up my corset and shook it out. The bag of coins went tumbling to the floor. When he saw it, Derren actually laughed.

"Fuck me. Herod was right." He turned to me, weighing the bag in his hands. He was smiling, and that scared me more than anything. "You're a little thief, Dyra." His voice tilted up in wonder. He stepped closer.

"No," I said quickly, shaking my head. "It's only my tips, Lord Derren. They were given to me. I haven't stolen anything!"

" _Your_ tips? Your tips belong to me." He laughed coldly. "Or have you forgotten, Dyra? Have you forgotten what your father owes me?"

"No!" I said quickly, backing away toward the bedroom. "I only—"

He hefted the bag of coins, then took it firmly by the knot and swung it at me, hitting me hard across the cheek. I stumbled back, the sharp pain of the impact echoing all through my face. I felt it in my teeth. My eyes watered. I let out a painful gasp.

"You think you can steal from me?"

He was advancing, shaking the bag in my face. The coins clinked endlessly together in a mocking harmony. I backed away, my hand pressed to my cheek.

"You foolish girl." He was laughing again. "You belong to me, Dyra. _Don't you understand?_ Your property belongs to me. Your earnings are _my earnings_."

"For how long?" I spat. The words tasted like venom. My eyes were stinging, and I knew that if my anger burned away I'd have nothing left but tears. "Three years! I've sang for you. Fucked for you. Isn't it enough?"

"It's not enough until I say it's enough." He gave me a condescending smile and deliberately slid my bag of coins into a pocket of his cloak. "And I don't say it's enough."

"Fuck you!" I hissed, fury coursing through me in waves. I couldn't contain it anymore. I backed away, shaking with anger.

He smiled wider at that, stepping closer. "Precisely what I'm hoping for, love. There's that fire I've been waiting for. I was _hoping_ you would burn for me."

I backed away as far as I could go, until the bedframe pressed against my legs. My eyes darted around, searching for anything I could use to keep him back. He watched me, his dark eyes following my movements.

"Are you going to attack me?" he said, smiling. "And what will you do then, Dyra? Run back to Renere?"

I said nothing. There was a vase of roses on a small pedestal beside the bed. I grabbed it with trembling fingers and raised it threateningly. Derren burst out laughing.

"Are you going to give me flowers and leave me hanging, love? Have I foiled some grand plan?" He took another step toward me. His hand was on the ring again, stroking it. The smile on his face so condescending it was knifelike. I hefted the vase over my head, taking aim at his face.

"Enough, Dyra." He stepped closer still. "Have you forgotten what I told you about running? I _will_ find you. And I _will_ kill your father."

"Go ahead," I spat, my hands trembling. "I don't care."

"Oh?" Derren smiled. "Then I suppose you won't care if I tell you he's already dead."

I froze, the vase suddenly heavy as a bar of iron. I felt all the blood drain from my face.

"That's right," Derren said, still smiling as he took another step towards me. He nodded to himself. "I stop by every time I'm in Renere for business, you see. That's how I met your father. I used to supply him with laudanum for the apothecary. Before I supplied him with denner, of course. He had gone through all the laudanum he had before he asked for something stronger. Did you know that?"

I stared at him, unable to move. To look away.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't, would you? Just a little backstory for you, love. Your mother's funeral — that was the first time he took the laudanum. He told me all about it. Your poor mother's _tragic_ death. Suicide, wasn't it? You told everyone, though no one believed it. But Harlan; he knew it for truth. Blamed himself, you see. He couldn't _stand_ it. And of course that wasn't enough." Derren's voice was a near whisper now, his eyes gleaming. "He was _so_ happy when I gave him that first scruple of denner. He couldn't _believe_ it was possible to feel that way again. He told me all about how he came home and made peace with his daughter after. I had already wanted you by then, of course. It was frustrating how much time it took to bleed your father dry and get you away from him. It was that bloody apothecary. He kept it stocked with just so. Much. Shit."

He took another step, his smile drunken and wide. "But that's not the point, is it, Dyra? You want to know what happened to him. Your father. It's really very tragic. You see, you can give an addict all the money in the world, and it will never be enough. I hear your grandparents got involved. Tried to bring him back to the Path after he lost the house. But he was just too far gone by then. Nothing left worth saving. You understand how it is, don't you, love? I'm sure he didn't _mean_ to set the fire. It's just one of those things. Tragic. Unavoidable. If you're going to house an addict, you have to be prepared for these things. Not that your grandparents had much experience of the sort, I imagine. Living in Tehlu Town and all. I hope they didn't suffer terribly when it happened. It was the middle of the night, so they were surely asleep. They might have woken up when the smoke and fire took them, but a civilized man would hope not. We have enough suffering in the world without imagining more, don't you think? Apparently it caused quite the scandal next morning. They were talking of it three neighborhoods over."

I felt the water on my shoes, and a distant piece of my mind realized I had dropped the vase. I hadn't heard the sound. The water barely felt like anything at all. My body was numb. Like I'd walked into an icy lake and it had frozen around me, and now I was made of ice and nothing more. There was a scream somewhere deep inside of me. It was tearing through my chest, but I didn't have enough in me to give it voice.

"So you see," Derren said pleasantly, "I'm afraid there's nowhere in the world for you to go, love. This is it." He gestured around the room. "Much worse places to be out there, believe me. Here you have the comforts of food. A place to sleep. Excellent company." He smirked. "But I'm glad that's out of your system now. Better to know where we stand."

My mind screamed in anguish. I thought of Grandmother and Grandfather. Of Father. _Gone. All gone…_

He closed the distance between us and pushed me roughly onto the bed. I didn't protest. I barely felt it as he divested me of the remainder of my clothes. I was _nothing_. Just a shadow of what had once been a girl. His lips were on mine. Crushing me so hard that I could barely breathe. Derren could kill me. And no one would come. I had _no one_ left. Not a single soul in the four corners was looking for me. I realized it then with perfect clarity. This was the end of the road. I would die here. I would rot here in the cold, hard earth. And no one would ever know.

Would I ever see my family again if they buried me beneath a whorehouse? Would I find any of them at the end of the Path? Or would my road lead somewhere different?

He released my mouth with a noise of disgust, and I tasted the salt coating my lips. It was only then that I realized I was crying.

"Shut up," he hissed at me. "Stop whining!"

His claw-like hands were digging into my arms. His weight pressing me to the bed. I lay still as a stone beneath him. My eyes were staring somewhere far away. Somewhere in the empty space behind him. Nothing there seemed to make sense. It was all a bland blur, the monotony of color broken up by the occasional red blot of a rose. He released me, fumbling with his clothes. I knew it happened only because my chest suddenly felt bare and cool, and air came easier.

I didn't feel it when he leaned back over me. I was empty. I was like the vase I'd dropped, with all its contents spilling out across the floor. All full of cracks. It would never hold anything else. It would _never_ be full again.

Something bounced across my face. It took me a long moment to realize it was Mother's ring, dangling freely on its chain. Hitting my cheeks in rhythm with his motions. I wanted to scream, but I was buried too far inside myself. Trapped in the grey.

My head lolled. I stared blankly at his arms, braced on either side of me. Taut with muscle beneath the trailing sleeves of his shirt. And hidden within the folds of fabric, a glint of metal…

It wasn't a conscious decision. I wasn't even aware of raising my hands. Of reaching. I closed a hand around his left wrist, and he grunted in pleasure, his motions growing more emphatic. I trailed my fingers up, gently, slowly, higher. Past his forearm. Until they reached the gleaming metal handle of the blade.

And then I dug my fingers into it, pulled it out and, in one sharp motion, stabbed the knife straight up into the space between us **.**

There was the slightest bit of resistance. And then the knife broke through his skin and slid inside. Freely. Easily. Like slicing through cream.

He jerked abruptly, and the handle of the blade lurched in my hand, its tip lodging into something hard. He let out a pained gasp. Then he collapsed, his full weight sagging onto me. The knife still between us. It only dug in deeper. I felt the blood rush across my hands.

"What— the… fuck…" he wheezed, gasping in pain, "did you do…"

I lay frozen, my trembling hands locked around the knife as warm blood gushed between us, and my mouth filled with the taste of iron. His weight grew heavier as he sagged against my chest. I let out a tiny whimper.

"Bitch!" he hissed. He struggled away from me, and the knife shuddered in my hands. My fingers refused to unclench. There was a squelching pop, and then his weight was gone. The bed shook as he collapsed beside me. There was more blood now. I could feel it splash across my bare skin. Red everywhere. The knife clattered from my hands.

Terrified of what I would see, I turned.

"Help…" he gasped. "Help me…"

He was wheezing now, taking great gasping breaths as his face paled to a bluish white. He coughed weakly, and more blood spattered across his chest as the rest continued to pour out from the gaping hole below his ribcage. The fabric of his shirt had turned blood-red. I could do nothing but stare. My hands shook. And as I trembled, his breaths became weaker. His chest slowed. It was barely moving now. A glaze was settling across his eyes.

"Bitch…" He spat the word out in blood, branding it across my shaking hand. And then he was gone. Chest still. Eyes empty.

I sat on the blood soaked bed for a long time before I reached over and grasped Mother's ring, pulling at the chain until it snapped cleanly in two.

I was in shock, I think. I'm sure. I sat there, beside his bloody corpse, and trembled. _So much red._ It was like I was eleven again. And Eamon's voice was in my ear.

" _I'm so sorry. She's gone."_

 _Of course_ she was gone. Did he think we were stupid? Did he think we didn't understand that blood belonged on the inside? I had known it when I finally reached Mother in the street. There was no way to put it back inside. Gone. All gone.

Derren was gone. I had done it. Me.

Was I sorry?

Tehlu knows, I had imagined it long enough. But _doing it._ The feel of the knife in my hands. The way his skin had split apart… The way the knife had slipped in, like it was freefalling, before it lodged in what must have been his heart…

I suddenly felt unbearably sick. I swung forward and stumbled off the bed, collapsing to my knees before I was violently sick upon the thick wool rug that coated the floor. When there was nothing left, I grabbed the edge of the bed and rose weakly to my feet. The room smelled of blood and vomit. And death.

Derren was _dead._

I had to go. Now. Quickly.

The fear swept over me, freezing me from the inside. Clearing my head. In the space of a few hours, I had lost _everything_ I had left. Every last sliver of it. And I had killed a man. Derren was dead. _I had to go, before they found me._ If they found me… The iron law? No, they may not get the constables involved. I already had no standing. No family. I was no one. They would take care of it on their own. They would… I didn't dare think about that. I couldn't.

I looked wildly around the room. There were no clocks. I could hear nothing. No distant voices down below. No strains of music. I stumbled to the nearest window, peering out behind the curtain. It was pitch black outside. Night. No one would dare disturb him in the night. I had maybe a few hours before they came looking. And when they did, I had to be as far away as I could get.

I let the curtain fall. My hands left bloody prints upon the velvet. Blood. _I had to get rid of the blood._

I hurried back to the bed, grabbed at the edge of the blanket furthest from Derren's body, and started to wipe it fruitlessly at my chest. It took me a long moment to remember the washroom.

The cold water brought me back to myself more than anything else. I watched the blood float away in tendrils, mixing into the water until the entire bath was a sickly shade of pink. I let my terror seep away with it, leaving only cold determination. I would escape. I _would_ survive. No one in this world wanted me, so I would do it for myself. I would _not_ die here.

I weighed my options as I braided my hair into a long plait before the fire. I couldn't risk going back upstairs to get my things. It was too crowded. Too dangerous. If someone saw me… The taproom was also out. I couldn't rely on it being empty. And the doors would surely be locked. But the key. Derren would have the key! But if it wasn't empty… No, I couldn't risk it. That left only the windows.

I approached the nearest slowly, peering behind the curtain again, and squinted out at the dark street below. The window was on the face of the building, directly above the main entrance to the Mare. I could see flickering patches of light spilling out onto the street from the taproom windows. No. It wouldn't do.

I gritted my teeth and walked back into the bedroom, where Derren lay upon the bed like a ghastly reminder of all my sins. I inched past him to the window beside the bed. This one faced a narrow alley. It was black, a well of shadow.. I waited, letting my eyes adjust, then looked down at the cobblestones below. They looked very far away.

I took a breath, warring with myself. It was only the second floor. I could do it. I could… _I had to._ There was a small ledge beneath the window. I let my eyes trail along the wall, searching. There was an iron drainpipe a few feet away. I nodded. _I could do this._

I let the curtain fall back into place and turned around, searching. It took me only a moment to find his cloak, abandoned beside the bed in a rumpled heap. Thank Tehlu. I picked it up gingerly. It had avoided most of the blood, and the drops that _had_ reached it were mostly invisible. I swung it gingerly around my shoulders, trying not to shudder. It was warm, the fabric soft and rich. The real treasure, however, was inside. The cloak contained several pockets. And beside my small sack of coins and several odd trinkets, I found Derren's purse; a pretentious thing of soft leather with a sizable collection of Vintish and Cealdish currency inside. More than twice what I had managed to save on my own. I felt some of the weight slide off my shoulders when I saw it.

The last thing was the knife. I picked it up with shaky fingers and wiped the blood off on the sheets, trying not to think about where it had been. What it had done. Then I wrapped it in my corset and stuffed the bundle into the cloak. My shoes followed. Without a second glance, I slipped the hood over my face and walked to the window.

It made a horrible creak when I pushed it open, as if no one had touched it for years. I held my breath for a long moment, but no one came running to investigate. So I took a deep breath, climbed onto the window ledge, and slipped out into the night.

It was terrifying. The ledge was narrow, and my bare heels hung over the open air while my toes gripped desperately at the stone. I edged past the window frame, pressing myself against the wall as I covered the small distance to the drainpipe. My movements were glacial. I gained ground by inches. My sweaty fingers dug into small crevices in the stone, my mind speeding through the intervening years. Trees. Denna and I had climbed so many trees once. I whispered her name like a mantra as I pushed myself along, trying not to tremble. My breaths were jagged and burned through my chest. When my shoulder finally brushed against the pipe, I nearly wept with joy.

Sliding around it was easier than I had anticipated. Making my way down was not. It was nothing like the trees I had climbed once, with their rough bark and easy handholds. I managed to make it three feet down the drainpipe before my feet lost their grip and I slid down the rest of the way, skinning my hands in a painful, stinging burn. My feet slammed hard into the ground, the jolt echoing through me, and my stinging fingers lost their grip on the cold iron.

I fell sideways, something like instinct taking over me. My mind was with Denna. I was nine. We were in the trees. Falling. I tucked my head, folding my arms around it as I rolled onto the ground. The grass felt hard as cobblestones. When my world stilled, I was lying on my back, a moonless sky above me. I hurt everywhere. My feet. My legs. Hips. Back. My hands were _burning_. I raised them weakly to see flakes of iron — black shadows in the dark night — peeling away from my torn and bloody skin. But the pain was bearable. At least, I didn't think anything was broken. And no one had come running. A blessing. I dug into my pockets and withdrew my shoes. Then I slipped them onto my aching feet and stumbled out of the narrow alley and away into the lightening dawn. Soon The Red Mare was far behind me.


	13. Road to Renere

Windward Square. I had heard it mentioned in the taproom in snatches of conversation, the name flying briefly between the lips of men as they made small talk. " _It was packed at Windward Square today." "There's no caravans leaving the square tonight, just a small expedition to Tinue. Stuck here, aren't I?" "Windward Square was full of ravel bastards this morning. No decent folk planning journeys out for several days time. The roads are going to shit."_ Windward Square. I gathered it was a main hub of travel. My best chance for leaving the city today. Before I checked anywhere else, I _had_ to check there.

It took me a while to track it down. Mirien is not a large city by any means, but I had barely stepped foot outside the Mare for all the years I spent there. By the time I found it, it was early dawn.

Windward Square was large. Bigger than I expected. It was enclosed by tall buildings on every side with eight roads leading out in different directions. The ground was made up of cobblestones, worn down with use. It was early, but even in the grey pre-dawn light, I could make out several caravans loading up to go. Horses stamped their feet and tossed their heads, their neighs echoing between the buildings.

I stood there for a long moment, eyeing the scene before me. It was entirely surreal. As foreign to me as the young girl I had once been. It was a crossroads of sorts. But I had not the barest sense of where to go. In the faint light the dawn cast upon me, I didn't even recognize myself. But the sun was rising, and soon bells would ring out over the church and the city would awaken. I twisted a familiar ring around my finger, fixed my hood more securely around my head, and stepped out into the square.

* * *

"One talent and six."

I blanched at that, my hands squeezing hard against my purse. "And— and to Severen?"

"The full ride? Three even."

"That's ridiculous!" I said indignantly. "The distance between Renere and Severen is…"

The man gave me an appraising look, and I trailed off nervously. He smiled.

"Are you going to quote maps at me, girly, or do you need a ride? I thought you were in a hurry. What'll it be?"

I bit my lip, looking around the square again. He followed my gaze.

"You're free to look round, but I'll be heading out in the next fifteen minutes. If you want to hop on this ride, it's one and six. Three even for Severen. I'll let you think it over."

He turned away, walking toward the nearest wagon where a dark-haired man was securing a horse to its harness and spoke to him gruffly. I reached for Derren's purse and did some quick calculations. One and six. It was more than all my coins combined. What I had considered a veritable fortune wasn't even nearly enough to get out of this god-forsaken town. Either that, or this man was taking horrible advantage of me. But not a single other caravan in the square looked ready to leave, and I needed to be gone before anyone from the Mare came looking.

Where, though? That was the question. Renere was the obvious choice. Too obvious. It was exactly what they would expect. Exactly where they would go looking. And if Derren was to be believed, there was nothing left there for me anyway. But still, how could I move forward without stepping back? I had to make sure. There was always the possibility that Derren had lied to me. I couldn't _not_ check. What if… _what if they were alive?_ The thought was enough to spark the smallest bit of hope in my heart. I couldn't just go. Not without knowing for sure. And besides, I didn't have money enough to go to Severen, even if I did dip into Derren's purse…

With a sigh, I reached inside the soft leather pouch and counted out one and six from Derren's money. It almost emptied out the purse, but if that was the cost of escape, I would take it. I handed the coins to the man when he returned, and he gave me a pleased smile, shook my hand, and introduced himself as Wint before directing me to a wagon.

"Be in there with your bags in ten minutes, or we're leaving without you," he said seriously. I nodded. "What's your name, girly?"

"Dy— Dalia," I mumbled.

"Well, pleasure to meet you, Dalia."

Then he hurried off, catching up to several men who were loading boxes into the wagon next to mine. Since I had no luggage, I climbed into the back of the first wagon and settled in against its soft canvass side. There were no other passengers.

True to Wint's word, in ten minutes time his entire three-wagon caravan rolled out of Windward Square and headed up the road toward Mirien's northern gate. The morning bells were just beginning to chime.

The gates were opening for the day when we reached the city limits. The sun was creeping into the sky, casting light across a clear blue canvass. It would be a beautiful day.

I slunk back into the wagon as Wint bantered with the guards at the gate. The exchange seemed endless. The gates creaked open slower than molasses. My heart pounded painfully as the minutes passed, beating out an anxious tattoo against my throat. Surely the alarm would be rung any moment. The guards would come running. It would all be over for me. I felt shaky and weak, as if my thoughts were chains of cold iron holding me down.

It was only when the horses stepped forward at last and we made our slow way through the gates… Only when we trotted down the road for several miles and hours… Only when the sun rose high in the sky and the road grew empty around us, that I felt the claws of anxious panic unclench from around my heart at last. I sat at the back of the wagon and gazed at the empty miles of road stretching out behind us, and felt a weight lift off my chest.

Mirien was behind me now. And whatever awaited me in Renere, no matter how hard it would undoubtedly be, had to be better than what I'd left behind.

With the sun shining brightly overhead, I let the canvas hangings fall closed and sank wearily to the wooden wagon bed. It was hard and rough, and it swayed and shuddered beneath me, jostling me with every pothole. It was the best thing I had felt in three long years. I wrapped myself in the cloak and let my eyes fall closed as I drifted into an exhausted sleep. The darkness behind my eyelids was red. I dreamt of blood and loss, and dark things that left me teary and shaken. But I slept.

It took a full span to reach Renere. We stopped at several small towns along the way, and I made use of the opportunity to buy an outfit better suited for the road, some underthings, and shoes that were more sensible for walking and didn't look as though they belonged to a fancy whore. I brought a small travelsack to put my extra things in. The lot cost me my quarter bit and three pennies, but it was coin well spent.

We arrived in Renere on a warm and sunny afternoon. It took over an hour to get through the long queue at the gate and then make our slow way up the King's Court Road until we reached Court Circle, in the center of the Imperial Plaza. I watched the familiar sights roll by, an odd ache spreading through my chest. It had been so long since I had seen these streets. I had walked these cobblestones so many times as a young girl. With Mother. With Denna. Most recently, with Father's hand clasped firmly around mine. But that girl was gone. And the streets looked wild and foreign. Jarringly different from my memories.

Wint's caravan drew to a stop at the center of Court Circle, and I got anxiously to my feet, my small travelsack slung across one shoulder. I hopped down from the wagon bed and turned, gazing around at the bustling market spread out across the plaza until my eyes were drawn to the royal palace across the way. My hands shook and I turned away, finding Wint behind me.

He offered me a small smile. "Running off on us, are you?"

I smiled back. "This is it for me. But I wasn't going to leave without saying goodbye."

He nodded. "Severen. Do you still want to go?"

"Oh, I—"

"You're a sweet girl, Dalia," he amended. "I was a bit brisk with you in Mirien, but if this isn't your final destination I shouldn't like to leave you stranded in a city such as this. So Severen, I can take you if you'd like. Just four jots more. Two even."

"Oh…" I paused, contemplating it. It was significantly less than what he'd offered me before. Severen was far enough away. Different enough to offer the sunny safety of anonymity where Renere loomed over me like a gaping shadow. Who knew what dangers lay hidden within its depths. But I had committed to this path. I had to see it through.

"Thank you, Wint," I said finally. "That is kind. But I'm exactly where I need to be."

"Then this is where I'll leave you." He offered me his hand, and I clasped it before stepping in and throwing my arms around him. He seemed surprised, but hugged me back.

"Thank you," I said again, my eyes tearing up. He had taken me away from a place that wanted to tear me apart. He had offered safety, company, and easy laughter around campfires every night. And I had seen the warm heart he hid behind his gruff exterior. I wished there were better words to express my gratitude. But I couldn't think of any, so I merely hugged him tight for a moment more before stepping back. I brushed surreptitiously at my cheeks and waved before turning to walk away.

"Dalia!"

I turned back.

"If you change your mind, we'll be here till nightfall."

"Will you spend the night?" I asked.

"Nah," he said, shaking his head. "We're not as rich as all that. We have a warm fire to sit by and fine wagons for sleeping. Plenty enough for us. Eighth bell. Come back by then if you find Renere isn't to your liking."

I smiled. "Goodbye, Wint."

Then I turned and walked out of the plaza at last, my feet following a worn path from another life.

It was a long walk from the Imperial Plaza to our old house. It took me nearly two hours of steadily weaving through the streets. The anxiety in my chest pounded in rhythm with my movements, clawing deeper with every step. What would I find? Was Father gone after all? Did I want to see him if he wasn't? Would he turn me right over to Derren's men again if he saw me? I considered turning around. I had considered it already, more times than I could count. But I pushed ahead, just as I had done then. Seeing was knowing. And knowing was believing.

I turned the corner onto a once-familiar street and froze, staring. For a moment, I couldn't find the house. In its place, there was a two-story thing of mutely painted blues with fresh white shutters. A shining slate roof. Glass in the windows. I stared, trying to make sense of it. Had I lost my way after all? Taken a wrong turn? But no, the house beside this blue beauty was the same one-story structure I remembered. Faded pink wooden walls. It looked horribly shabby in comparison. And wasn't the shape of the porch still the same? The door unchanged beneath a fresh coat of paint?

I could see it now. The bones of it still stood, simply clad in new skin. Grown to new heights. I edged past it nervously, my eyes trailing down the walkway to the back. Yes, I could see the shape of our yard down the path, seemingly wild in the fresh grip of spring. At odds with the beauty of the house. As if the pretty blue facade was just a mask.

I stopped on the street and stared. Father couldn't… couldn't possibly have fixed it so. How many royals would this have cost? I stepped slowly back, my eyes trained on the blue siding.

_Tried to bring him back to the Path after he lost the house._

Oh Tehlu… was it really true?

Bitter cold crawled up my arms, digging itself deep into my chest. I felt the spark of hope in my heart flicker. I thought about turning around for the hundredth time. I could leave now, catch Wint. Make my way in Severen. And what would I do? Sing? Would that be enough to earn a living?

The questions whirled furiously in my mind as I backed away from the house. But what of Grandmother and Grandfather? Could I leave without knowing? I knew the answer to that. Had known it in every mile that fell away beneath the wheels of Wint's wagon. Whatever future I dared imagine, the whole of it hinged on this certainty. This knowing. And this blue facade, too, was not enough.

I lingered, debating if I dared knock on the door. For all I knew, Derren had somehow claimed the house for himself. It certainly looked rich enough. Perhaps it would be better to keep an eye on it for a bit to see if I could spot its inhabitants. Or better yet, I could walk to Tehlu Town first. Face whatever awaited me there…

I was still lost in thought when I heard the creak of a door. The sound was so familiar, it sent me spiraling through the intervening years, until I was a scared little girl again, the door at my back and Derren's face looming over me. Oh, the house might look different, but it was the same door. Right down to the screws.

I turned to see a small child running out onto the porch of what had once been my home. He ran to the edge of the railing, hung over it, and let out a shrill laugh. It was the most innocent sound I had ever heard. A woman hurried out after him. She was tall, with delicate features and fine sandy hair. She grabbed the boy and pulled him back onto the safety of the porch, reprimanding him softly. Then she straightened up and saw me frozen steps from her walk.

"Can I help you?"

There was a slight accent to her words. Modegan, unless I missed my guess. She stared at me, frowning.

"Sorry," I said quickly, my mind spinning with a poor array of excuses. I tugged at Mother's ring, its weight reassuring on my finger. "No, I'm… I'm a little lost, I think…"

"Who are you looking for?" she asked, her hand still tight on her son's. He looked at me in confusion, the smile on his face dwindling.

"No one, I… Do you live here?"

She frowned at that. "Who are you?"

"Is this your house?" I pressed, ignoring her question.

"I don't see how that's any business of yours," she said stiffly. "I think it would be best if you left. You're scaring my son."

I stood frozen, questions surging beneath the surface of my skin. I wanted to ask her how long it had been her house. How long had it looked so tall and blue? Did she know what had happened to… to Father?

I unconsciously took a step forward, my hand stretching out slightly, as if to grasp at a long-lost family.

" _Now really_ ," she insisted, pulling the child behind her. "Please be on your way. Or I'll have my husband remove you."

I stared at her blankly.

"He's on the city watch, you know," she added. "And they haven't the time to deal with good-for-nothing ravel. Go on, get out of here!"

She firmly pulled her son back into the house and slammed the door behind her. I saw the flicker of a curtain behind the window glass. _She was watching me._ It took me several moments to emerge from my stupefied stupor.

Stupid. _I was so bloody stupid._

I hurried away, pulling the hood over my face as I went. My heart was in my throat, my mind too busy running to _think_. It was exactly what I needed; loudly announcing my arrival within hours of entering the city. I shouldn't have talked to her. I had to be more careful. To take my time. I couldn't simply knock on Grandparents' door either.

But there was no door to knock on when I got to Tehlu Town. There was no house. Just a black scar burnt into the ground. Splintered pieces of wooden bone clawing up at the sky. The neighboring houses were gone too, charred earth stretching out in both directions. It must have been months, but it somehow all still smelled faintly of smoke.

Derren… had told me the truth.

I broke then. I don't remember much, even now. The pain of it was too intense. Too raw. Like a rush of water; hard and harsh, and impossible to hold. I couldn't take it with me. Even the piercing clarity of the denner isn't enough to bring it all back. I remember the shape of it but not the thing itself. I thank Tehlu for that, because if I had to lose Grandmother and Grandfather one more time, with all the sharp edges intact, I don't think I could do it. Wake up. Put the denner down. Whatever _it_ is. I already dread the waking that's surely coming, whenever this painfully lucid dream of remembering withdraws its claws at last. It's all too much. I don't know if I'm strong enough. At least not on my own.

And the only solace is him; Kvothe. Love me or not, he'll be there come morning. Dependable as bread. The only one who's come back, again and again. The only one, if I'm being honest, that I can trust with at least a piece of it all. In the morning… perhaps I'll tell him everything.

But I do remember that it broke me. That time slipped away as I stumbled through the graveyard of ash. I remember the ground, black and barren. Coated with pieces of burnt wood. Chunks of broken stone. The landscape black and grey and empty. And I was empty too. Empty is all I remember feeling. Everything else is lost to time. Lost to forgetting. Locked, perhaps, behind some door in my mind.


	14. How I Fall

Dusk was just beginning to fall when I heard the footsteps. I heard them because of the sound they made against the burnt earth. A sort of crunching that rang through the silence. I had been sitting in the quiet, still as a ghost. A charred stone wall behind me.

I turned my head, my eyes drawn to a shape. It was a man. The first person I had seen wander into this barren wasteland since my own arrival. From where I sat, he was little more than a shadow. The shape of his hair stretched out to his shoulders. He wore a cloak, the material dark and indiscernible. He stood there for a long while, looking around the broken earth that had once held a whole row of houses. He stepped onto the scorched ground and walked through the wooden bones that remained, jutting upwards like tall grass. I watched him from where I sat in the shadow of the wall. Too weary to move. Too afraid. Even in the falling darkness, the shape of him looked hard.

Dusk was gathering in on itself to darken into night when the man finally turned to leave, abandoning his walk through the decimated graveyard. When it was clear that he wouldn't return, I stumbled to my feet, brushed the tears from my swollen eyes, and made my way out of Tehlu Town for the last time.

I let my feet guide me, my weary mind catching up only when I found myself on King's Court Road. The thought of leaving had been running through me all day like an undercurrent. I should have listened. But it was too late. I knew it before I stepped into the Imperial Plaza. The spot where Wint's caravan had stood was empty. He was gone.

I stood in Court Circle, turning around aimlessly as night settled around me. There were several wagons still standing around the perimeter despite the lateness of the hour, the flickering torchlight glittering off their canvas covers. Most were packing away their things. I hesitated, feeling the bag of coins through my cloak. _Maybe one of them…_

I approached the nearest cluster of wagons, where a heavyset man with dark hair, a lined face, and a short beard was supervising the packing. I had to call him several times to get his attention, and he squinted in annoyance when he finally turned to look at me.

"Are you leaving tonight?" I asked.

"If this sorry lot ever gets their shit together," he said gruffly, scratching his beard. He stepped away from the wagons, joining me. "Need a ride, do you?"

"I do," I said, glancing over at his caravan; five wagons arranged in a close circle. "Where are you headed?"

"Up north to Kershain." He seemed to contemplate me. "Just you, alone?"

I nodded.

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen," I lied.

He frowned at that. "You don't look a day over fourteen, if I don't miss my guess, little lady."

"Well, I am…" I said uneasily.

"All right," he said. "Got your papers in order then?"

"I…" I paused, frowning. Mother had had an official writ of travel once, endorsed by the Lackless family themselves to serve as an invitation to their court, but most travelers didn't bother with such things. "Does it matter? I can pay."

"Is that so?" He chuckled. "And where do you want to go, eh?"

"Anywhere," I said. "I'm not terribly picky. How much to Severen?"

He studied my face. "You don't sing, do you?"

"I… could," I said carefully. "I'd be happy to do it as part of my fare. I'm quite good."

"I see." He ran a hand through his beard again. There was a slight pause. "One noble."

"And if I sing?"

He shrugged. "If you don't, it's two."

My heart sank and I cursed inwardly. It was more than twice what Wint had offered. At this rate by the time I got to Severen, I'd be penniless. "I'll sing then."

He nodded. "Let's see the silver."

I reached into Derren's purse and then my own, digging out one haft, nine bits, and two and a half pennies. I offered him the handful of coins, but he didn't take it. He simply looked at my hand, then my face again. Something seemed to slide behind his eyes, but in the darkness it was nearly impossible to see.

"It's a noble," I said, wondering if he was trying to sort out the calculations. I twisted my hand so he could see the coins better as they caught the light. "Here. You can count it yourself."

He smiled and swept the coins from my hand. "It wouldn't do for a man to not collect his due."

He tipped the coins into his pocket and then put an arm around my shoulders. "Come then, let me show you where you'll be riding."

He pulled me along toward the cluster of wagons. His grip felt heavy around my shoulders as I awkwardly fell into step beside him. It seemed to remind me of every man who had touched me in the last three years. I shuddered.

"I can walk on my own," I insisted.

"Nonsense." His voice was jovial but his grip tightened, his arm pressing me into his side. I tried to twist away and stumbled, but he kept me from falling. "A warm welcome is the least I can offer."

I felt a sudden tightness in my chest that had nothing to do with how hard his fingers were digging into my arm. For a second I was back in the room with Derren, his hands holding me down, pressing me to the bed. Gooseflesh broke out across my arms. "I've changed my mind. I don't want to go to Severen after all."

"That's all right," he said easily, his grip never loosening. "We're making several other stops. Brycesheer. Tinue. Dorsnia."

"No, that's okay," I said firmly, trying to pull away. "I think I'll stay here."

"You don't want to stay here," he said easily, steering me through the plaza. "You want to leave the city. Can't say as I blame you, what with the warning out."

"What?" I hissed. I dug my feet firmly into the ground and struggled to throw off his arm. In that moment, I saw that we had drifted far past his wagons and were now halfway across Court Circle. A cold sweat broke out across my skin. "Let go! Where are you taking me?"

"Just for a little stroll," he said, his voice still deliberately light. "Don't worry, everything's fine."

"I don't want to— Let me go!" I tried to scream and he clamped his other hand firmly over my mouth. I struggled harder, terrified. His grip on me had become iron. He was squeezing so hard I had trouble drawing in air.

"Stop moving," he said conversationally. "You might hurt yourself."

"Why are you doing this?" I hissed against his hand. The question came out as a broken jumble and I tried to bite his fingers. He didn't react.

"Sorry, little lady," he said, a slight tinge of regret seeping into his tone, "but a man's _got_ to collect his due. Times are hard enough. When the opportunity for gold presents itself…" He trailed off, sounding apologetic. I shook my head weakly, trying to draw in air. My lungs were seizing up. Black spots floated before my eyes.

"Look," he said. "This is coming out all wrong. I'm just taking you to the city guards. I don't like to hold a woman this way, so I'll take my hand off your mouth now. You can scream if you want, but then they'll just come quicker and I'll have to tell them you were resisting. They won't like that. Do you understand?"

I nodded, and he withdrew his fingers. I drew in a ragged breath, trying to push my panic aside.

"Why?" I gasped.

"Oh, girl," he said, in a tone of resigned apology, " _don't you know?_ There's a warning out. No young women traveling alone without papers are to leave the city. Any attempting must be turned over to the guards for questioning."

I felt my heart freeze over.

"Some young lass done a terrible thing," he explained. "Killed a lord some ways off, I hear. Dark-haired young thing. Pretty face. Bit of a singer. Now, I'm sure it ain't you, but if I bring you over, the gold they'll give me's all the same. And a man can't just turn down easy gold, you understand?" His tone sounded almost pleading. "They'll question you and let you go, and you'll find your way to Severen then. And I won't be keeping your noble, mind. I'm an honest man. You can use that to get a ride out, once you've sorted out your papers. Then we'll both have done right by the iron law."

My mind reeled with panic. Of course. _Of course._ Tehlu hold me, I was so stupid. They would never simply let me kill Derren and escape. Derren was _from_ Renere. I should _never_ have come here.

The world whirled, my thoughts spinning wildly. But there was only one solid, unwavering truth. _I could not go to the guards._ If I did, it was all over. And I would not go back. I would sooner die. And that thought alone filled me with reckless grief.

"You don't have to go all the way to the guards," I choked out. "I'll pay you. I'll give you what they're offering. Just let me go."

"You'll pay me a whole royal?" He paused, drawing to a halt in the dark plaza. He turned to look at me, holding me firmly by the arm. His eyes bore into mine, his face set into a frown. "Just to let you go?"

"That's right." My voice was barely more than a whisper. I nodded.

"I'm an honest man, little lady." His voice was hard. "The guards will let you go if you've done nothing. It won't cost you a thing. And no one will take you without papers. At least no one you'd want to travel with." The unasked question hung between us, thick and gnawing. I matched the description. I sang. I could see the realization in his eyes.

"You don't understand… I need to leave the city," I whispered. My voice sounded strangled, and I fought to bring it back under control. " _Please, I don't know anything about it!_ I'm no murderer. There— there's a man after me. He wanted to marry me, and I said no. He took me anyway. If you take me to the guards, he'll find me!" My voice broke. "I _did_ lie to you before. I'm— I'm only thirteen. I _can't_ get married." His eyes on me were unreadable again. Almost as dark as the night. " _Please_. Don't you have any daughters? Sisters?" I felt the tears brimming behind my eyes and let them free. They rolled down my cheeks, leaving my face wet. I was sure he could see them. Sure they would reflect in the flickering light cast on my face from the torches scattered around the plaza.

He was looking at me, silent in the near darkness. I couldn't make out his face enough to see if my words had touched him.

"It's all gold, isn't it?" I hated how desperate my voice sounded, but I let him hear every break. Every tremor. "I took it from _him_ , so I don't mind if you have it. You're an honest man, aren't you? Not like him. You wouldn't marry off a thirteen year old girl… would you?"

He was silent. Nothing. I felt a wave of real anguish wash over me.

"Keep the noble, too," I managed. "For your trouble."

"If that's true," he said finally, "where are your parents then?"

"In Severen! I just want to go home. Please!"

He considered me. "It's a lot of money. How do I know you're good for it?"

Not that honest after all, then.

"Here," I said, reaching into my cloak. I pulled out Derren's purse. "I have it right here."

And then I threw the purse at him.

Startled, he made an instinctive grab for it, and his grip on my arm loosened. I twisted sharply and pulled my arm free of his grasp. Before he even had time to make a sound, I was off. I darted away across Court Circle just as he called out a harried curse.

"Stop her!" he yelled, taking off after me. I heard his heavy footsteps pounding the cobblestones at my back, but it was dark and I had a decent head start. Breathing hard, I swung around a wagon and nearly tripped over a stack of crates on the ground beside it. I just managed to leap around them, avoided a Cealdish man who looked up in surprise as I flew by, and took off across the plaza, my cloak streaming behind me.

I had barely taken two dozen steps when there was a terrible clattering sound followed by a string of curses. The voices rang out clear as bells through the silent night. Then screams for the guards. I ran flat out, reaching the far end of the plaza just as shouts of "Stop!" and "Don't move!" broke out behind me.

But they were too late. Pulling the cloak up over my face, I darted into the first side street I saw. Then another. Into a small alley. Through a crack between two houses. Past an empty yard. I burst onto the busy street beyond, bustling with people. I fell into step beside them, hurrying along until I turned off into another narrow lane. The shadows around me were blacker than night. And so was Derren's cloak. Perfect for sneaking around. He had always been a sneaky bastard. That suited me tonight.

It took over an hour to lose them completely. I wandered the smaller streets, sticking to the shadows until I had walked far enough away from city center that the shouts of the guards faded away entirely. I kept walking for another hour after that, the buildings around me turning markedly shabbier as I wandered deeper into the seedier parts of the city. When I finally allowed myself to stop, I felt like the spinning world had stilled… and I was on the edge.

It hurts to think about even now. How I trapped myself in that city. How I had been foolish enough to go. And there I was, barely a handful of coins to my name. No place to call home for miles. No way to leave. And even if I could, where would I go? Severen wasn't a safe choice anymore. And the only family I had left were off in Anilin, half a world away. Even if they were still there and would be willing to take me in, it was an impossible journey. I would never find them.

So I stayed. One city was hardly better than another. And while I couldn't leave, Renere was big enough to lose myself in. Easy enough to disappear. That first night, I slept in the shadows of a rancid alley deep in South Renere, too afraid of people to seek out the comfort of a bed.

Next morning, I found a bath in the basement of a tiny inn called The Loden Sleep. It was a dim, windowless room of cracked tiles and trails of mold sneaking up to the low ceiling. The water was lukewarm at best, the towel little more than a rag. But it wasn't the amenities for which I had paid so dearly. In the privacy the tiny room afforded, I stood before the cracked slip of a mirror and took out Derren's knife. For a moment, it flashed red in the flickering candlelight. As if all the blood had never washed out. I inhaled sharply, trying to still my shaking hand. Then I raised it to my chin and cut away my waist-length hair in one choppy motion.

My eyes teared up as I watched dark strands drift down to pool at my feet. No one had cut my hair since her. _Since Denna._ I had let it grow, keeping it long as I kept her firmly in my memory. Her bright laughter. He easy smile. Her gentle hands working their way through my tangled locks.

" _You've made such a mess of things again, D. This is a horrible knot. I'll have to cut it short."_

" _Not too short!"_ I had begged. " _I want long hair like you!"_

" _Then be more careful."_

I had cried then. Big, ugly tears rolling down my face as she sheared the strands of hair patiently away, until my locks fell to just below my chin. " _Don't worry, silly_." Her voice had been gentle. " _It's only hair. It'll grow back. You'll see."_

" _I don't want it to grow back,"_ I had said, with all the naive certainty of a ten-year-old girl. " _I want it now!"_

" _But you look so cute like this."_ She had hugged me from behind, her chin resting on my shoulder as she looked at our reflections. " _Just in time for spring, too."_

The spring she had met _him_.

I trimmed the ends in silence, evening them out as I watched my warped reflection work. In the broken mirror-glass, the eyes that looked back at me were hers.

When it was done, I pulled out the small scruple of dye I had bought at the apothecary earlier that morning and painstakingly dyed my remaining locks an ashy blonde. Then I wiped my face, dressed, and left the mildewy room; the locks of fallen hair packed neatly in my travelsack. The times ahead would be hard enough. This was no time for crying.

I took a tiny, windowless room at a seedy boarding house and counted my remaining coin on the lumpy bed. The sheets smelled musty and were speckled with dark spots that I tried not to study too closely. But I couldn't afford any better. My freedom had cost me dearly. I had only two quarter bits and a small handful of pennies left to my name, and no way in the world to earn more. I could have hired myself out as a singer, but with the warning hanging over the city, I didn't dare risk it; not even in South Renere, the part of the city no one of any standing would dare to frequent. And of the inns and taverns I tried, no one needed a washing girl in their kitchens. No one would take me for a cook.

No one would take me at all.

Except the men who spent their time drinking and loitering in the narrow, crumbling streets. They were rough men. Men who had fallen on hard times. Men who had lost or gambled away everything. They were sharp and frayed around the edges, like cracked glass on the verge of shattering. They called out to me as I hurried past, often making grabbing motions in my direction. I skirted their advances well enough, but their words served to plunge me into painful memory.

But there was little for it. My only options were to wait until things calmed and try to find work. Save enough to leave the city. The warning would _have_ to lift eventually. And in the meantime, I would stay in South Renere — as far from Derren's establishments as I could get.

It was a simple plan in theory. But luck was not on my side. Even with my new look, I was afraid to venture out into the main thoroughfare of the city, and in South Renere work proved impossible to find. At least the sort of work I was willing to take. Without it, it took only five span for my dwindling funds to dry up. And then my tiny room with the lumpy bed that smelled of mildew was gone, and I was back out on the street with not a place in the world to call my own.

I wandered through the seedy underbelly of Renere for a long while that day before I finally found refuge in an alehouse as night began to fall. Exhausted and fading with hunger, I spent my last halfpenny on a bowl of thin potato soup and a chunk of barley bread, eating it slowly as I considered my options. I debated sneaking out past the guards under the cover of darkness. Perhaps there was a way around the gates. But even if I managed it, where would I go on foot? How far would I get with no food, water, or money?

And I was tired. So very, very tired.

I could go back to the tavern on Flint Street and see if they would take me on as a serving girl after all. They had offered to hire me to carry drinks two span ago, but the owner had made a grab at me before I'd so much as put on the uniform. In that moment, it had seemed like the worst thing in the world. I'd fled, images of the Mare flashing through my aching heart. I told myself I wouldn't go back to that sort of life. I was worth more than that. I would sooner die. Now though… With the prospect of sleeping on the street before me, my idealism was salt on the ground. Could I really not manage a handsy employer? What was he, really, in the face of an empty belly and stretching weeks of hunger? After all, I had dealt with far worse.

And who was I, to think I deserved anything more?

"Whaddaya say, girl? Penny forra roll?"

I somehow kept from jumping in surprise. My eyes lifted, trailing to the man who stood beside me. He was thick, with a pronounced paunch and beady grey eyes. His hair was oily and he smelled overwhelmingly of sweat. He had a thick accent that I could decipher only because I had spent five span wandering these streets.

He took out the coin and laid it on the bar beside me. It made a metallic thunk against the rough wood of the counter and my eyes drifted to it inadvertently. The flickering lamplight glinted off its surface.

"C'mon, now," he said hopefully. "Gotta room righ' upstairs." He laid an arm around my shoulders. "Make a fellar happy, eh?"

I wish I could say that I slapped his arm away. That I ran off, found my way out of the city, and made for Anilin. That I found Mother's family there and lived happily under their protection. But that would be a story. A fantasy. That would not be my life. And the truth of my life was that I had spent the last three years doing two things: singing and whoring. The truth was that five span was a long time — long enough to realize that I was good for little else. That I didn't _deserve_ anything else. The truth was that a penny was more than a serving girl made in a night. And the owner would take me anyway, and expect me to thank him for it. And if I couldn't sell my voice, then the only thing I had left to sell… was myself.

So with a heavy heart, I reached out and slid the coin off the bar. Then I stood up, smiled, and followed the man upstairs to his room. The one nice thing that could be said of it was that it had a window.


	15. Forgetting

I fell into my new life painfully, but with little resistance. There were things that made it easier. A warm bed at night, even if most nights it wasn't my own. A small but steady stream of coins. Enough to eat and get by on. Enough to start slowly refilling my purse. On the nights when I didn't share a bed, I would take a tiny room meant only for sleeping and revel in the silence.

And so the days passed.

I told myself that it was different. No one was forcing me into anything. _I_ was making the choice. Working for myself. And I was making money. Not a lot by any means; these men paid far less than what I had managed to squirrel away in bits and pieces at the Mare. But money was money, and I was in no position to turn down any coin. It was meant to be temporary — just until the warning lifted and it was safe to go. Until I had enough to leave. But span turned to months. And months to seasons. And the everyday horror of my reality settled into the dullness of routine.

Hard and broken as it was, South Renere became a sort of home to me. I stayed there until long after the ashy coloring of my hair faded away. At first I had been waiting, but waiting was hard. I had learned that lesson long ago, back during the summer when I spent long, empty days waiting for Denna to come back home. Back when I was young and naive, and life didn't weigh nearly as much. And these days there wasn't really anything to wait for, no matter what promises I had made myself.

Anilin was a distant star; so far away that its light didn't feel real. When I looked up at the sky my first few span in Renere, I dreamed of it. It was a distant flicker of hope at the edge of the map. It kept me going for a while. But as time went by, that hope, too, began to fade. The reasons were simple. It was too far. It was impossible. And I wasn't a silly child anymore. I knew the truth of things now, and I was far too old and clever to keep believing in something like hope. I had already learned how cruel a thing it could be. As brightly as it could light the sky, it wasn't real. You couldn't eat it. Couldn't live off it. And when it inevitably came crashing down, the shards would cut you up as well as any knife. And then only disappointment remained. The sky would turn so black that finding your way at all would be impossible. It just hurt so much more when hope was involved. It was easier just to _be_. And I was nobody now. Just a whore, and a cheap one at that. I had already lost everything worth losing. Wasn't it easier to not hold on to hope and risk losing that, too?

So I stopped looking up.

In bits and moments at first, until the moments grew longer. Until, one day, I couldn't find the sky at all. There was no blue anymore. No lights. No stars. Just grey, really. Just an endless, dusky greyness everywhere. And all the days the same. Each counting down to the night, the hours between sunrise and sunset dragging and speeding all at once. Just time that didn't mean anything to live a life that meant even less.

And then night would come. There would be a man. And the next day there would be another. And again. Night after night, I would lie upon rumpled beds or weary couches, another's body heavy against mine. Though not as heavy as the stone in my heart. The stone that _was_ my heart. Their kisses would be sloppy, or greedy, or sometimes even tender. Loving. All agreed upon. But never wanted. Their hands would press, eager, always demanding more.

But for all their touch on me, I felt nothing. I felt like I wasn't ever there at all. Oh I would go through the motions, say all the right things. But while my body was free for the taking, my mind wandered to places they couldn't follow. Places that lived in the grey and were filled with the sounds of Denna's laughter or Mother's rebec. I lived mostly in memories and the spaces between, the rooms in my mind filled with people who had started to fade around the edges. My real world was the one that existed only in my mind. The other one — the one I'd wrapped away in grey cotton to hide its sharp edges — was just too painful. If I had stopped to think about it long enough, to take the time to see or feel it, I think I would have broken apart.

As it was, it was nearly winter before it all caught up with me.

The morning air was brisk. Particularly cool for Fallow. I had left Lucian asleep in his room on the second floor of the Kindled Falling and slipped out through the dark and empty taproom. The owner stuck his head out of the kitchen at the sound of my footsteps and gave me an amiable nod. It was not my first night spent at the Falling. I returned his greeting before I wedged open the door, allowing morning's brightness to spill into the room. It blinded me for a moment, the cold swirling around me like dust in strips of daylight. I pushed through it and stepped out into the icy air. It tasted of winter.

I pulled my thin shawl tight against my dress and hurried down Picket Street. It was empty at this ungodly hour. Empty was how I liked South Renere best. And early mornings were the only times it was truly empty. The street, the buildings, the cobblestones — it all seemed to breathe in a peaceful harmony. As if the entire city were still asleep, lying in wait for the day. I saw it this way most mornings. And these moments of peace were well worth the chill.

Still, it was significantly colder than it had been last night, and I had not dressed appropriately when I left for the Falling the previous evening. I walked faster, hurrying through the streets as the icy air brushed against my skin. It burned my lungs with every breath. Nauseatingly cold.

I finally reached the tiny alley behind the Iron Tree, a boarding house where I had taken to renting a bed when my trips through South Renere proved fruitless. It was a small but decent place run by an honest Cealdish man and his wife. The beds were clean if not fancy. The food good in a simple way that tasted almost nostalgic. The rates affordable. And best of all, it had an old fireplace against the back wall of the common room that had since been replaced by a new and significantly better-designed fireplace. The new fireplace was centrally located, better ventilated, and provided even heating to the entire first floor. The old fireplace had been bricked up from the inside, but not removed because it would "compromise the structural integrity of the building," as explained to me by Charrel himself, the owner of the Iron Tree.

He had talked at length about the updates he and his wife, Hana, had made after acquiring the decrepit building several years ago. Charrel was warm-hearted and enthusiastic. He loved to talk despite his thick accent, and it was his favorite activity to chat with the boarders and regale them with stories from his past as he tended the small bar in the dining room. I never minded the company; it was the sort of human connection I found hard to come by these days, and it filled the time in a way my evenings and nights never did. Sometimes he would even bring over a sweet and leave it for me with a wink before he launched into a story.

So I learned a great deal from Charrel. I learned that he and Hana had dreamed of opening their own inn for too many years to count. That they had come to Renere from Dalonir several years ago, looking to make a fresh start somewhere new, though I was hazy as to why. Despite being Cealdish merchants, they weren't particularly wealthy. As such, the only property they had been able to afford was in the seediest part of Renere. And it had been more of a broken building than a boarding house when they had bought it. But Charrel and Hana were nothing if not incredibly diligent. Over the years, they had put their heart into the Iron Tree, building up its bones until it grew into the proper boarding house it was today. Now, it had fifteen small guestrooms, all of them comfortable and warm. The kitchen was well updated and the dining room pleasant and bright. They had even added a small but extravagant bathhouse, available to guests for a discounted fee and open to the public for a penny per hour.

And I learned about the fireplace. The old one had been drafty and poorly ventilated, prone to filling the entire first floor with smoke. Unusable for their purposes. Much too expensive to remove altogether, but taking up valuable space in the small common room while it remained. Hana, a voracious reader, had dreamed of having a library in its place, and to her the news had been a source of great disappointment. But Charrel was practical and creative in ways that other people often didn't see. As such, he had managed to rework the ancient brickwork of the old fireplace and build its face out into a set of shelves. The fruit of his labor was a marvel — shelves that stretched to the ceiling built of an assortment of multicolored bricks. These days, they were stacked tidily with books. Boarders were free to peruse it and enjoy a multitude of stories during their stay. And if a story was left unfinished when their stay was over, they were free to take the book so long as they left another in its place.

I knew Charrel was especially proud of his small brick library, for he spoke of it often. He invited me to look through the books on the shelves even when I hadn't taken a room and had only stopped by for a meal.

"It is full of story and magic and secret," he had told me when we first met, his eyes sparkling. "Very exciting for young girl like you."

I had nodded politely. It was a nice offer, but it had been a long time since I'd believed in magic. Magic, after all, was up there with hope. And I had lost mine by the time I found the Iron Tree.

My skepticism must have shown in my eyes, for he had given me an earnest nod and said, "Ah, but you a serious girl, Dayana. No time for story, yes? No time to belief."

"Believe," I corrected with a small smile, nursing my warm soup.

"Ah, belie _ve_." He stressed the last syllable. "Yes, I thankful. But story have magic. I promise. Every book have something secret inside. Even my bookshelf is full of secret." He smiled. "It is built atop ancient fire, you see. Who knows what hides inside. Perhaps it is wordfire, like what make the Adem strong. Words make library strong too."

After I had finished my soup and thanked Charrel, I walked the perimeter of the building until I found the tiny alley along its back. And there, tucked away between piles of spare roofing tile, I found what I was searching for: a rusty iron cleanout door tucked away into the brick wall of the building. Charrel may have blocked the old fireplace, but all its hardware remained.

It took me a while to pry it open, and to clean out the ash, soot, and broken bits of brick within it. But when it was done, I had the perfect storage place for my things. It was dry. Insulated. And best of all, it was entirely secret. I used it to hide away my travelsack, extra clothes, and, most importantly, the bulk of my coins and Mother's ring while I spent my nights wandering from inn to inn. I had already lost my savings twice to desperate men in as many months, and I refused to do so again. The last time I had refused with Derren's knife, and the encounter left me shaken for days. But from then on, the coins stayed safe in my secret fireplace, buried deep beneath Charrel's library. The knife, though, I carried.

Now, I stood in the alley, trembling in the freezing Fallow air, my numb fingers pulling at the icy metal of the door. It took me a long moment to pry it open and dig out my cloak. By the time I threw it around my shoulders, I was frozen all the way through. There was no helping it. I had wanted to save today's coin, but I had to get warm. Winter was too cruel to me by half. I dug around the space some more, until my fingers brushed the small bag of things I kept for washing, and I pulled the cloak tight around me and headed to the entrance of the Iron Tree.

Hana was at the desk when I stepped inside. She smiled brightly in my direction.

"Hello, Dayana. Breakfast?"

"Maybe later," I said, my teeth chattering. "I was hoping I could use the bath."

"Of course," she said, her words soft beneath their Cealdish wrappings, "go ahead. You can pay later."

"Thank you." I dropped the purse back into my pocket and hurried past Hana and through to the back. It was a more expensive bath than most, but it was the nicest one in these parts, and it had been a while since I enjoyed it. At any rate, I was much too cold to walk to the public bath on Flint Street.

It was still early and there were only two other women in the baths. I avoided them and slipped into the small room where steam gathered, letting my mind drift somewhere far away. Sometimes when I sat here long enough, the steamy fog swirled into familiar faces. And then, for the space of several moments, they all stood around me. Alive. Happy. Sometimes being in this room was like stepping into a warm embrace. I stared hard at the swirling vapor now, but the patterns remained wild and random. Today, even the steam seemed to know I was alone. Eventually a red-haired woman joined me, and I put my efforts to rest. It would be best if I got on with it before my hour was up. Otherwise Hana would certainly charge me two full pennies. She liked me well enough, but she was still Cealdish.

I hurried through the rest of my time, brushing my damp hair with a detached efficiency as I stole glances at the harmony clock on the far wall. I liked the bath, but I couldn't afford two pennies on this sort of pampering. I had to eat. And winter was coming. I needed warmer clothes. New shoes. New dresses to tempt the men. It was getting harder to find men willing to buy a room for the night. I'd had to pay for my bed four times in the last span alone. I hadn't had so many nights alone for over a month. Not since— I froze, my heart thudding painfully against my chest.

_Not since…_

"No…" The word was a breath more than a whisper. Barely a sound at all.

My fingers shook, the brush clattering to the floor. It made a terrible echoing rattle that seemed to cut right through me. I turned, my eyes scanning wildly around the room, though I wasn't sure what I was searching for. The baths were painfully white. White stone. White walls. White ceiling. Too white. I took a gasping breath. Then another. But I couldn't seem to draw in enough air.

"Are you all right?"

I turned again. The red-haired woman was standing several feet away, staring at me while a small frown worked its way across her face. She was half-dressed, having paused in the act of slipping on her shirt.

"W-what day is it?" I managed. My voice sounded thin to my own ears, like I had strung it together from frayed bits of cloth.

"Reaving," she said, frowning at me.

My hands shook harder. I could feel the blood pounding in my ears. Her face blurred for just a moment and I shook my head sharply, blinking. Trying to hear past my violently beating heart.

"The last span?" I asked. "Of Fallow?"

"That's right…" She took a step toward me. "You should sit down, dear. You look rather pale."

"No, I…" I backed away, my whole body trembling. I took another empty breath. _Where had all the air gone?_ My lungs burned. "I'm fine."

It wasn't… It wasn't fine.

"I'm…"

 _Late._ Over a span late. I should have bled last Felling. How had I not noticed?

I turned aimlessly, my eyes roving across the bright, white room. It seemed to shimmer around me, growing brilliantly brighter. The woman spoke again, but it was just noise. Just an echo.

It couldn't be. _No…_

But my bloods had come consistently ever since I returned to Renere. Since I had stopped drinking the herbal concoction they forced on us monthly at the Mare. To keep us from bleeding… from falling with child. Of course I couldn't afford such things on my own. I hadn't even considered…

The pounding in my ears intensified. A _child_.

 _That was what_ she _had thought, too._

I blinked, and all the white around me turned red. And suddenly Denna's face was there, right in front of me. But there was no smile. No easy laughter. Only a horrible grimace of pain, and my ears were ringing with her sobs. They echoed. And I could taste the blood. The sharp tang of iron on my tongue. My stomach roiled with nausea and black dots flashed across my vision.

I stumbled back.

I couldn't breathe. There was no air… no air… in this room…

I was running before I realized it. I tore through the stifling heat of the baths. There was a shout behind me, but it sounded distorted. Words meant for someone else. Everything was swirling as I ran. Fuzzy. The air cloying. Wet and hot. I could feel the drops of water gathering on my skin. The doors appeared before me, materializing suddenly. I pushed hard against them. Felt the kiss of cold metal on my skin. A tiny respite. And I was through. Out in the common area. And the air felt cooler here. Dryer. The space around me so dark after the brightness of the baths it was hard to see.

I turned stupidly where I stood. Where _was_ this, anyway? The room had a name, I'd been in it so many times before, but now I couldn't think of the word. My mind felt fuzzy. As if I were missing a part of myself. The part that could think and feel. And now feeling seemed impossibly far away. The room grew darker, shadows looming with every heartbeat. Pulling the air from my lungs.

There was a sudden pressure on my arm, and I blinked Charrel's face into view. I saw his mouth move, but all I heard was silence. Even the frantic sound of my heartbeat had faded away. And then his face, too, was lost to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're halfway through D's journey now! To anyone who's been following and walking this road with D, I just want to say a huge thanks! Your kind words are everything.


	16. Weight of Memory

The air smelled medicinal. It was a familiar smell. Nostalgic. I breathed it in, the taste slightly bitter as it coated my tongue, as if the air had been steeped in tea and herbs. In that moment, I was sure I was in Father's apothecary. _Sure_ that I had fallen asleep in the back.

I shifted and felt scratchy cloth beneath my cheek. It was comfortable in a familiar way. I didn't want to open my eyes; to go back to work. I folded in on myself, burrowing into the warmth as I tried to hold on to the ripping threads of my dream. It had been something terrible, to be sure. Something so dark it scared me. And yet I still grasped at its edges with a morbid fascination, trying to see the shape of the thing that left me terrified.

Footsteps startled me, and the dream fell to pieces. They were soft and light and couldn't possibly be Father's. Then it could only be—

"Denna," I mumbled. "I'm getting up. I swear."

I reached out to grasp at my blanket, finding only a cloak. Was it Father's?

"Dayana," a voice said.

Dayana. Who was that? I didn't know.

"Are you awake?" it persisted.

The voice was thin and dry. Grandmotherly, but it wasn't Grandmother's. The sound unfamiliar.

I blinked awake into semidarkness, and the remnants of the dream faded, leaving only harsh reality in its place. My empty life slipped back around me, full of gaping holes where my family had been. I was wrapped in a cloak that was not my father's. Still a murderer. A fugitive. A whore.

A _pregnant_ whore.

I had long come to terms with everything else, but the last realization was overwhelming. It filled me with cold terror as I lay there, panic building in my chest until it shook me whole.

I jolted dizzily upright to see a small room with low ceilings and tiny windows high up along the walls. The walls were filled with racks hung with dried herbs, and shelving that contained jars of clay and glass and copper. The light had a flickering quality, comprised mostly of candleflame and shadows that moved so much they seemed alive. And leaning down to look at me was a woman. Cealdish, but so old that her dark hair had faded to silver.

"You're awake." She reached out with a thin but firm hand and pushed me back down against the sheets. "Good."

She stepped away, bustling out of my line of sight. I heard the rustling of paper and something light being shaken about.

"Who are you?" I asked weakly.

I struggled to sit up again, trying to focus around the frantic pounding in my chest as my heart drummed a keening song with every heartbeat. I would die. I would _die_. Just like Denna had died. It was only a matter of time. And it was all my fault. Again.

And wasn't that exactly what I deserved?

"Where… where am I?"

It took her a while to reply. She was occupied at the cluttered table beside my narrow bed. My eyes adjusted to the low light enough to see her mix several herbs into a paper sachet and steep it in water in a clay mug. Then she turned back to me.

"I am May," she said simply. "You are at my house. Charrel brought you here."

I frowned. "Why…?"

"You collapsed at the baths," she said. "Do you remember?"

I did. Oh, I almost wished I'd never woken up at all.

"A bit." I cradled my shaking hands in my lap, staring down at them as I focused on my breathing.

In and out. In and out.

"I'm fine, really." My words felt wooden in my mouth. "It's nothing." _Maybe it wouldn't be so bad… dying. What was I even clinging to, anyway? Pregnant. I'd probably starve long before I bled to death now._

_Was that worse?_

In and out.

"Hmmph," she said. "If you're fine, then I'm an Aturan princess."

Her declaration was so shocking that it caught me off guard, and the smallest smile pulled at my lips. I breathed; a puff of air escaping from my strangled chest. It felt a little bit lighter.

"Are you a doctor?" I asked.

"A herb healer."

"Oh." I looked up, nostalgia dulling the panic in my chest a little more. Enough to breathe past. "Of course."

She gave me a frank look. "You are familiar with the art." It wasn't a question.

"My father owned an apothecary." I spoke carelessly, keeping the words far away to soften their sting. "He sold to many herb healers. I helped sort and package the orders sometimes."

"I see." She nodded. "That is good. It will be easier to help you. Less to explain."

She turned back to the table, lowering her head to peer into the mug. After a long moment she picked it up and handed it to me.

"Drink this."

I clasped my shaking hands around it, feeling the warmth cradle my skin. It smelled pleasantly bitter, and I felt the ache in my chest loosen from inhaling the vapor.

"What is it?"

I raised it to my lips, taking a small sip. It seemed to burn away some of my panic. I took another, larger gulp, closing my eyes as I felt its warmth spread through me.

"Passiflora," she said, "menka leaf, and piper root." She gave me a level look. "It's a calming draft. Ideal for a panic episode."

"Thank you." I glanced down, staring into the cup and avoiding her eyes. "You're… good." I raised the cup to my lips again, inhaling the steam as I took another sip.

"I've been doing this a long time, child," she said, her voice surprisingly gentle. "Take your time." She bustled away, letting me drink in peace. As I sat there sipping the tea, the hard knot in my chest loosened a bit, like a rope coming undone. Without it, the panic felt less sharp. Still there, but manageable. A dull ache that I could think around.

I looked around the room again, taking it in. There were several more tables placed against the walls; workstations loaded with herbs and vials and bottles. There was a large vat of water in the corner, next to a shelf stuffed with medicinal journals and books. There was a door set into the far wall, firmly shut. Now that my eyes had adjusted to the light, the room didn't seem nearly as dark.

May returned as I was finishing the tea. She leaned against the table and folded her arms across her chest, contemplating me.

"How do you know Charrel?" I asked to fill the silence.

She seemed amused by that. "I know everyone around here, Dayana."

"Everyone?"

" _Everyone_ ," she repeated. "They all come to see me sooner or later. There's not a western doctor worth a damn down here, and if they could afford one of those School of Medicine-trained dandelions, they wouldn't live in this shithole. But they do, so they come to me."

I choked out a tiny laugh at that. It seemed to please her, and she favored me with a smile before adding, "Has this happened to you before?"

 _Tehlu._ I sighed. No one had asked me anything like that. Not for _years_. It made my eyes sting in the most uncomfortable way.

I shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "No."

"Tell me," she said, and in that moment she reminded me so much of Grandmother that I nearly burst into tears right then. Grandmother… what would she think of me if she knew? At least Denna had loved him. I stared unblinkingly at the ceiling. At anywhere but May.

"It was nothing." My words sounded lifeless. Empty. "It was hot in the baths. I felt dizzy. I panicked."

I fell silent, still looking anywhere but at her. She let the silence stretch until it bordered on uncomfortable before asking, "Is that all?"

"That's all," I said, feeling my stomach clench.

May sighed. "I can't help you if you won't tell me what's wrong, Dayana."

"I don't need help."

"No?"

"No," I repeated, the word catching in my throat. "I'm okay. Really."

I wasn't sure when I had ever been less okay in my life. Against my better judgement, I snuck a glance at her. She was watching me, her eyes steady. Her face wasn't hard, but it was firm. Unyielding. Like a tree in the wind. An age-old oak.

 _Why?_ What did she want of me anyway?

I glanced back down at my hands. They were shaking again.

May laid a hand on mine, pushing the cup at me again. "Drink."

I raised it to my lips and drained the rest of the amber liquid. She took it back. "I'll make more."

I watched her mix another cup at the table, taking deep, slow breaths until I slowly pushed the panic away once again. It simmered below the surface now, laden with May's tea. Still threatening to boil over, but mostly under control.

"My daughter," she said, returning with the second cup and pushing it gently into my hands, "would get this way sometimes. Freeze with panic. She would feel faint, or have trouble breathing. Each time, she thought it was death come to claim her."

I took another sip, saying nothing.

May nodded to herself. "It was hard for her. The tea helped. It calms."

I did feel calmer, with the warm amber liquid in my hands

"But the tea is just a balm," she said. "Not a cure."

"It didn't help her?" I asked, curious despite myself. I squeezed my hands tighter around the cup that was holding me together.

"For a time," May said. "You feel better now, but the problem is not solved. Is it?"

I said nothing.

"When you break your arm and take laudanum for the pain, does that fix your arm? No. And here, too, you must root out the cause." She sighed. "Calia didn't wish to root out the cause. Before she fell to panic, she had everything. But after… she walked away from the man she was to marry. From the job she'd worked so hard for. She let her whole life slip away. Talking… that would have helped. More than tea. But she was always a stubborn child, that one."

"What... happened to her?" I asked.

"Nothing." May sounded weary. "She's gone. Chasing the wind. She thought it easier to run and spread her pain across the rivers and hills and mountains. That that would make it lighter."

"Did it?" My words were soft, and I didn't meet her eyes. May was quiet for a long time.

"Maybe," she said finally. "Maybe it did."

I watched her, silent. When she spoke again, her voice seemed rougher around the edges.

"Dayana. Think on it, child. If you leave now. If you run off to the edge of the four corners… Will your pain heal with the days and miles?"

"I don't know." I looked away, my hands firm around the cup. There was nothing I could say. The mess I was in was of my own making, and no amount of talking would help. What words could heal me?

No, this… this would not heal at all.

I lowered the half-drunk cup and slipped off the bed, wrapping the cloak firmly around me.

"Thank you for helping me. How much do I owe you?"

May frowned. "Dayana, please, just—"

"How much?" I repeated.

May sighed. "A penny."

"Are you sure?" It was a pittance. It would hardly even cover the cost of her herbs.

"I'm sure."

I reached for my purse but she laid a hand on my arm, stopping me. "Wait. If you don't want to talk, it's fine. But finish the tea, at least."

"Okay," I agreed, "thank you."

May turned away and stepped toward the table, where she began to sort through the packets of herbs. "I'll mix you a few sachets to take with you. You'll only need to add water. Hot, but not boiling. You are staying with Charrel, yes?"

"Yes," I said mechanically. I had no idea where I was staying, but the Iron Tree seemed as good a place as any until I ran out of coin.

"Good, he is a good man. He'll have water. Fresh and clean, not like some of these places here."

"Right," I mumbled.

I watched her work for a bit, then wandered over to the shelves, still holding on to my cup. The collection of medical journals was impressive. I had studied a lot as a child with Denna and Mother, and they had taken my education very seriously, but I'd never heard of most of the books that filled her shelves. My eyes drifted across the worn and creased covers and onto the next shelf. This one was well stocked with glass jars full of herbs, all arranged neatly and labeled in cursive. I paused here, the sight painfully familiar.

It smelled so much of Father's shop.

If I closed my eyes, I could picture myself standing there. I could practically taste the air; bitter and sweet at once. An overwhelming scent of herbs with a slight undertone of chocolate. Father had always stocked candy to spare and sold it much too cheap to joyful neighborhood children.

I reached out a hand, tracing my fingers across the familiar words. _Menkha. Laudanum. Arrowroot._ I mouthed the names as I read them, my memories so present they felt more solid than the air I breathed. _Deadnettle. Ramsburr._

I turned and saw May watching me. Her eyes seemed to glint in the dim light.

"You have a lot of herbs," I said, feeling rather as if I had been caught in the act of something improper. "Do you get them all here in Renere?"

"Some. Some come in directly from the Ceald. With merchant caravans. Tinkers." She shrugged. "Some I've picked myself in the surrounding forests or the Eld."

"The Eld?" I repeated. "Isn't it far? I've heard it's dangerous."

"Hmmph." She turned back to the table and began rearranging her packets. "Dangerous. Eating soup can be dangerous, if you're not careful. If you take proper precautions, you can walk any road or forest. Even the Eld." She paused. "But you're right. It _is_ far. I haven't been there for a long while. Too long."

"Right." I looked back at the shelf, my eyes drifting across the neat labels. _Bessamy. Bitefew. Motherwort. Krovnium…_

I paused, my fingers trembling. Father's apothecary loomed around me. I remembered the face of the woman. Pale. Thin. Eyes swollen with tears and hooded in shadow.

" _Anything_ ," she had begged. " _A tea? Denner? Please!_ "

Father hadn't had denner. Yet.

I glanced back at May, still occupied at the table. She was kind, _so kind._ More than I deserved.

My hand shook as I brushed the shelf.

* * *

It took May ten minutes more to finish mixing the herbs. I guiltily handed her a penny in exchange for the paper bundle and held it to my chest as she led me out of her basement ward. Less two pennies.

"Come back if you need more," she said. "Or if you change your mind."

I nodded before hurrying away, my "thank you" nearly lost to the frigid wind.

Unsure of where to go, I returned to the Iron Tree. Hana was at the desk again, and she greeted me warmly, refusing my payment for the bath in a surprising display of affection. With my purse rapidly thinning from my morning with May, I didn't insist. She sat me down with a bowl of potato soup and bread fresh from the oven, but my appetite was gone as surely as my faltering will. I doubted I would ever feel hungry again.

I forced down several spoonfuls before retreating to the tiny room I had rented. There, I lay on the narrow bed, watching the sun's light slide across the empty walls as my thoughts raced and swirled. Hours passed. The room fell slowly into shadow, colors fading from the light. Through the small window, I saw a glimpse of the encroaching darkness that filled the sky. But still I lay, listless, as night fell around me. Getting up… was too much effort. And every road before me was no sort of road at all. The paths too rough and jagged to walk. The destinations unclear.

The night grew heavier, the darkness darker. Unbroken by window lights. The hour so late that around me the city slept and the world fell to silence. But still, my mind burned.

Where? Where should I go?

What could I do?

Why did I cling to this empty life?

Even if the child were real… if it _was…_

_Oh Denna… would you forgive me?_

Silently, I wept.

* * *

I left early next morning. There was nothing to stay for, and I could no longer stare at these empty walls while my mind screamed in the silence. I hid most of my things safely away in my secret space, slipped on my tightest low-bodice dress, and lost myself in South Renere's crude heart as it started to wake.

I drifted, slipping from inn to inn. To busy taprooms. To places where the din was so loud that I could no longer hear my thoughts. I didn't want to think anymore. There were no good options before me, and too much time to contemplate the bad ones. Despite how meaningless my whole existence seemed, it was terrifying to think of how it might end. Of how that might hurt. And was there anything after? Anyone? What kind of mother could I make, anyway? I was nothing. I had _nothing_ _to give_. And if I did it… If I chose this terrible thing instead… then who, _who_ would I be?

So I didn't think. I walked. I moved, until the pounding of my heartbeat was all I could hear. I drank, and spent too much coin, and talked to men I never wished to see naked. And the hours ticked away. Night fell. And night was my hunting ground, even though I was never sure, really, if I was the one hunting. Especially tonight. But I made a go of it. A good one really, considering how utterly empty I was inside.

I found him in my third tavern of the night. He was a heavyset man with rough hands and a thick accent; the kind of man that had surely lived all his life among the fields in the eastern hills. He bragged he was in Renere on "important business" though he wouldn't say what his business was. I didn't ask. Didn't care. He had a room at The Loden Sleep and offered me two full pennies to spend the night, and that was plenty more than I could hope for. I followed him up the dingy steps to a tiny room with a bed that smelled strongly of mildew. There was a small window, the glass cracked and stained with dirt. Its wooden frame was rotted at the edges. The floor stained and warped. The whole room seemed forlorn somehow, weary of its battle with the encroaching filth. Long worn beyond mending.

I let him take me on the musty bed, my stomach roiling and my mind black and empty. Perhaps I was worn beyond mending, too.

He was nearly spent when I couldn't take it anymore. Not for one more second. It was all too much, too much. I felt like I would burst. Like the whole world would burst with me. I let out a strangled gasp as my stomach churned, and only just managed to turn my head before I vomited onto the dingy floor. Another stain to paint it with. No matter what face I put on, there was no escaping what I was. Not when the proof was painted across the broken wood. He let out a string of bitter curses as I started to sob.

He all but threw me from the room, cursing about "useless drunk whores" and I stumbled down the uneven stairs, fumbling at the strings of my dress with shaking fingers. I could feel my heart beginning to race again, the undercurrent of panic strumming through me like distant thunder. Its claws had not descended to clench around my heart, not yet, but they were surely circling. Drawing closer.

I ran unsteadily through the street, still busy despite the hour. It was Cendling night, and the crowds were boisterous. I struggled through them, avoiding the men who threw lewd comments in my direction. By the time I reached the Iron Tree, I was trembling. My body pulled tight as a string on Mother's rebec. It took me several attempts to pry open the rusty cleanout door in the back alley, but I pulled out the bag that held May's packets. Then I firmly slammed the door and hurried inside.

"Dayana!" Charrel greeted me as I stumbled into the Iron Tree. "Hana said you here, but we miss you at breakfast."

"Sorry," I apologized. "I had to… had to go. But I need a room for the night. And water. Hot water."

"Okay, hot water." He nodded, reaching to pull down an iron key from the hooks on the wall behind him. He turned around and passed it to me as I fumbled through my thinning purse in search of coins. "I get. Here." He held out the key, frowning as he studied my face. "Dayana, _tu lhin_? What wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm fine. Fine." I held out a hand for the key.

"Too pale," he persisted. "I get May."

" _No_ ," I said firmly. "I'm _fine_ , Charrel. I promise. I just need—"

"You not fine," he said. "That why May looking for you. She worried."

" _What?"_ My heart froze in my chest. "May came looking for me? Here?"

"This morning." He laid the key down on the desk and reached out a hand to touch my shoulder. "She ask you come see her right away. She wait long time."

I took a step back.

Tehlu. She _knew_. She had to. I felt cold sweat break out across my skin.

"She say— Dayana?" Charrel frowned.

 _I was such a fool._ Of course she told them. I had ruined it all. Again.

"I— I have to go…"

_How many times would I make the same mistakes?_

"Go? Where? _Posz naut_. It night."

I took another step back, my heart pounding so hard I feared it would burst free of my chest right there. The air felt too dense to breathe. It was the last place I had. _The last in all the world._

"Dayana, wait!"

"S-sorry," I managed. And then I turned and fled into the night.


	17. Black Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may be particularly triggering. All warnings listed in the tags.

I don't know how long I ran for. I couldn't possibly retrace my steps or pull out a single frazzled thought from my swirling mind. All I know is that I found myself outside the Broken Horseshoe, arguably the shittiest inn that side of Renere. I stood in the cold wind, staring at its creaking signpost for a long time as my heart beat painfully from exertion and I breathed in lungfuls of knives. But for all that, my hands were steady. When I had mastered my breathing, I pulled on the heavy wooden door and stepped inside. It was time.

For a halfpenny, they put me up in the drafty attic, right below the eaves. The room, if it could be called that, was the size of Mother's old closet. There was a tiny window fitted with nothing but oiled sheepskin and wooden shutters, and the wind seeped easily into the room, causing the light from my single candle to flicker. I sat atop the lumpy mattress and shivered, the ratty blanket wrapped around my shoulders. On the twelve inches of dusty floor before me sat my bag and a cracked cup of rapidly cooling water that smelled strongly of sulphur.

I hoped I wouldn't be there long.

I cupped a hand protectively around the candle and stared into my bag. There were the packets May had given me. Herbs mixed together with her loving hands. To help. _But not to heal._ They were just a plaster; she had made that clear enough. Treating the symptom… but not the cause.

My hand shaking very slightly, I reached past the packets, deeper, until my fingers brushed cool glass.

_But if I could treat the cause…_

I grasped the tiny jar and pulled it out into the shifting light.

_Krovnium._

My stomach clenched. I was a thief after all. I hadn't paid May nearly enough — not for this. And she knew. Of _course_ she did. If she called the constables, it would all come out. I would _hang_ for Derren. And I had realized it as I ran, as my feet pounded painfully against the hard stones of the road.

I didn't want to hang.

_I didn't want to die._

The will to live; I couldn't explain it, couldn't understand it. It wasn't logical. But I could feel it burning inside me. I could hear it with every beat of my heart. I didn't know why I was still here. Why I was the one that had survived, after everything. For all this time. But as hard as it all was, as painful as it was…

_I wanted to live._

I raised the jar and carefully pried off the lid. The smell permeated the room in seconds. It was strong. Bitter. It burned my nose as I breathed it in.

I closed my eyes. For a moment I saw the woman, hovering on the threshold of the apothecary. Her dark hair lank and unkempt. Her eyes wide with desperation.

" _Anything_. _A tea? Denner? Please_!"

"Are you sure about this?" Father's face was serious. His voice so soft I had to strain to hear from where I hid behind the display of candies and snacks. "This is what you want?"

"Yes." The raw conviction in her voice had burned itself into my memory. "I can't have this child. Please."

"All right. There is something. Krovnium." Father had led her into the back, his voice falling away across the growing distance. "It's an herb. Natural. Quite safe. It can be brewed with hot water and…"

"Don't listen." Denna spoke behind me and I gasped and turned sharply. "She's doing a bad thing. You shouldn't hear."

"Why?" I said. "Why's it bad?"

"Because children are a blessing," she said, giving me a sad smile. "And life is sacred."

"Tehlu anyway, you sound like Grandmother." I stuck out my tongue at her. "You always say we should be able to do whatever we want anyway. So if she doesn't want her baby, why isn't that fine?"

"Because." She tweaked my braid.

"Hey!" I swatted her hand away. "Because _why?"_

She gave me a sweet smile.

" _You'll understand when you're older."_

I opened my eyes.

Denna… would you understand?

I tilted the jar. The krovnium rustled softly as it scraped against the glass. The sound echoed somewhere inside me. Grating.

There was no logical reason to think what had happened to Denna would happen to me. Women had babies all the time, easily and without issue. If they didn't, we would have all died out centuries ago. _I knew that_. But the fear in my heart was real. Heavy as stone. And even if it was a child I carried. A perfectly normal child. I… _couldn't_.

I didn't want this.

After everything, wasn't I allowed to be selfish just this once?

Carefully, I poured three buds into the cup. The water swirled, the color turning a murky brown. The smell intensified. Twice as bitter now. I paused.

Was it enough? How much did I need?

Three. It seemed so little.

I tilted the jar again, adding another. Then another. That was five buds now. Only two left. Five seemed a great plenty. But what if it wasn't enough? Seven wasn't much more than five, after all. Just two more, really. Shouldn't I give myself the best chance? Wasn't seven the lucky number? Grandmother had always said so, so Tehlu must have said so too. The seventh saved city when the greatest demon fell at last.

Seven. That would keep me safe.

I titled the jar and shook the last two buds into the cup.

It tasted bitter and vile and strangely smokey, and it burned my mouth and throat. Choking it down was an exercise of will. But I hadn't expected it to be easy. This was punishment as much as a reprieve, and its saving grace would be more than I deserved. I curled into a ball on the lumpy mattress, a moan escaping my clenched teeth as the mixture hit my stomach. I felt it settle there. First warm. Then painfully hot. It burned steadily across my abdomen for a long while, leaving me sweat-soaked upon the filthy sheets.

It felt like hours had passed before it faded, though it couldn't have been all that long for the night was still dark and silent. My whole body ached, and my stomach felt raw and worn, as if someone had taken my insides and wrung them dry. Wearily, I struggled with the layers of cloth around me until I spotted the red streaks upon the white fabric. Bright even in the fading candlelight.

_It was working._

I'd done it.

I collapsed back against the filthy mattress. Exhausted. Shaking slightly with the enormity of it all. Shocked at the hand I'd dared to play in my own destiny. It reminded me of Denna, somehow. Denna, who had been brave and loyal and kind. Loving. Denna, who would have given her life for her child. And did.

Tehlu… What would she think of me now?

She was the last thing I saw before I faded into darkness. Standing beside me. But I can't remember her face. I can't remember if the expression she wore was love… or hatred.

* * *

It was pain that woke me.

I'm sure that it came first in a dream, but I can't remember the details. Only the stabbing ache that pierced through my stomach and echoed through my chest. And in my dream, I'm sure that I was dying.

I remember blinking awake into the predawn haze, my stomach clenching painfully, as if torn up by a thousand burning knives. I remember the pain in my head as I lifted it, as if the knives were there, too. The way the world seemed to tilt. Blurring with my heartbeats. And the blood. There was no white anymore.

I had prepared an extra sash of fabric. I don't remember switching it out. I don't remember moving. I remember nothing but pain. Enduring. Overwhelming. The smell of day-old sweat clinging to my skin. A flash of the burning sun as it pierced through the sheepskin sheet. Morning bleeding across the wooden planks. Painfully bright. Hot. So hot. Thirst burning my throat.

Denna beside me, her hand on mine. Her eyes as deep and dark as the Centhe Sea. Her voice was a whisper. Calling to me. She felt so real then. Reaching for me through all the worlds between.

Then darkness fell again. Solid and black as pitch. Though her face remained.

I remember struggling awake once again in the black. I felt weak and empty, and my body trembled with cold. The attic reeked of sweat and iron. And when I lifted my head, the shadows spun dizzily around me. The filthy sheets were stained with black.

And Denna was still there. Standing beside me. Her face pale and bright amongst the dark, more solid than the air. So real I was sure I could touch her if I only reached out my hand. And the world around me felt wrong. Off-kilter. Swathed in cotton around the edges, like my mind was slipping away as Denna grew clearer. Realer. She was calling to me. And I realized it then, somewhere in the depths of my mind where the cotton didn't reach, that I had made a horrible mistake. A miscalculation. The krovnium; it was all wrong. _Everything_ was wrong. She was too present; Denna. She would take me. And my life was a series of mistakes. All of it. And this one… this one would be the end.

But the thought was hard to hold. Hard to focus on through the haze of pain that still held me. But it burned. It burned enough to push me to my feet, where the world spun and Denna drew closer, her arms reaching out to me. An invitation. I yearned to take it. To make the pain end. To make it all stop.

I didn't.

I stumbled across the room. Down the uneven stairs. The pain echoed through me, so jarring I could barely breathe.

She walked with me. I don't know how I found my way out of the Broken Horseshoe. How I made my way through Renere's spiderweb of tangled streets. Were there people? Did they see me, or was I as much a ghost to them as Denna? Were the cobblestones behind me painted with red? Even now, I can't imagine how I knew the way. But the walk, the pain; all of it is lost to the darkness, because the only thing I can remember is the outline of her face.

And then I found myself outside the door, my hands scrabbling frantically against the familiar wooden panels. In that moment I was cold, and I was shaking, and the pain was everywhere, the darkness around me dimming by degrees. And it was all somehow familiar, the door before me blurring with the door from my memory. Of another painful winter, which had left me just as cold. And then, finally, when I was sure I couldn't stand another second, the door creaked open. And she was there. Her lined and wrinkled face pulled tight with worry. Her eyes sharp and wide, and afraid.

Again, I found myself at Grandmother's door. The heart was the same.

"I'm sorry," I tried to whisper, but I don't know if I ever made a sound. My tongue felt too heavy, unyielding. The shape of the words all wrong in my mouth. "So sorry…"

"You foolish girl!" May hissed, reaching out to grab me. "What have you done?"

And I wanted to tell her. Everything. To beg for help. For forgiveness. To tell her… I wanted… But the darkness that I'd carried this whole way had grown too heavy. I couldn't hold it anymore. I remember the way her face had tilted, growing closer and further both, and then the feel of her arms, her grip warm. Firm as iron. And then there was only black again. Black that grew as dark as pitch. As coal. As shadow.

A perfect, unbroken darkness.

And Denna's face… was gone.

* * *

I blinked awake into the dim haze of May's basement. It took a long time for the blurriness glazing my eyes to clear. For the familiar smell of herbs to settle around me. Light filtered softly into the room through the small windows. It was day, though I couldn't say which.

I felt torn inside. The ache was dull, but it went so deep that I could feel it in my bones. And my body was heavy as stone. I turned my head with effort to see May standing before the bookshelf. She was flipping through a book in the thin rays of light falling from the nearest window, but she glanced my way as I moved. It was hard to make out her face in the shadows.

"May…" I managed, my voice a dry croak.

"Dayana." She put down the book and came to stand beside me. Her eyes were hard. Unreadable. "I see you're not dead."

I opened my mouth and closed it again, too weary to talk.

"It was a close thing." May reached over, placing her fingers to my wrist. Her hand felt rough, at odds with her gentle touch. She held it there for a moment in silence before turning away. "You must have a death wish."

"I… don't." I coughed weakly.

She sighed, picked up a cup of water and brought it to my lips. I took a grateful sip. Then another.

"Why?" she said, when I was finished.

The question was so vast, I didn't know where to start. I was exhausted just thinking of the answer. I said nothing, averting my eyes as the silence grew heavy.

"Krovnium." She lowered the cup, placing it on the nearby table. She _did_ know, then. I had been sure of it when she came looking. And here was the proof. Indisputable.

"Incredibly potent," she added quietly, "even in small doses. You are familiar with herbs, Dayana, so I'll assume you didn't take it because you fancied the pleasant smell."

I shook my head, still looking anywhere but at her.

"No," she said. "You had a problem and wanted to solve it on your own. Is that it? I thought you had more sense."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't mean to steal from you. I left a—"

" _Kist!_ " she cursed. "Stupid girl! I found your penny. You think this is about _money_? Tell me, how much did your pride cost you? The state you were in when you got here. How much did you take?"

Was it pride? And all along I had thought it was shame. I felt something catch in my throat. Something so big and hot that it was hard to speak around without my voice breaking. "All of it."

She cursed again. "Foolish. All that for one child? One would have been sufficient. The amount you took — it's _poison_. Did you _want_ to die?"

I stared, a hot prickling tugging at the corners of my eyes. Her voice seemed to slice right through me. I shook my head again.

" _Kraem_!" Her voice grew louder, rising in angry spirals. "To do such a thing. So carelessly. Gods, how stupid. It's good you came back. Had you waited any longer, no one but Tehlu could have saved you."

"I know."

The words seemed to break something in me. Sobs rose up in my chest, bursting free into the space between us. I felt the tears spill across my cheeks, hot and heavy.

 _How had it all gone so wrong?_ It was everything. Everything I did. How many times had I tried to do it right just to have it all fall apart?

May watched me for a moment, her face unreadable. Then she sat down wearily beside me, her wrinkled hand brushing at my cheeks.

"It's all right," she said, her voice lower. Surprisingly gentle. Her warm hands were squeezing mine. "You're alive. It's all right. It'll be all right."

She held me then. The hug tentative, but firm. The scratchy fabric of her dress softening as my tears seeped into the cloth. But she let me cry against her. She was warm. And for that moment, so was I.

When I finally regained control of myself, May explained the repercussions of what I had done. Of how the near-deadly dose of Krovnium had done its job, and torn my body apart besides. She spoke softly and kept her voice even. Her hand warm on mine as I lay on the narrow bed, the rough sheets wrapped around me. But for all that, her words left me cold.

"So I'm broken." Everything had been broken for so long. Just one more thing now. What did it matter?

"Not broken." Her voice was firm. "You're still here, aren't you? Still alive. As for whether you'll ever have children — it's unlikely. I won't lie to you."

The words were numbing, like the outline of a distant loss I couldn't comprehend. I didn't know what to do with it. And there was relief wrapped up in it, too. And anger.

"Good," I said savagely. "I shouldn't."

She said nothing, her gaze unreadable.

"It's for the best." My voice broke a bit. It had been a long time since I'd dared to dream of a life. A normal one. The sort that could fit into a house, surrounded by trees and flowers and children, like the one Denna had painted for me once a lifetime ago. I couldn't even imagine it anymore. But I thought of them. Denna. Mother and Father. It was just me now. And there would be no one else. Even the memory of them would fade with time. Would end with me.

I felt empty. I was a fire burning with nothing at the hearth. A ghost already.

"Dayana," she said gently. "You can't keep going like this, child."

"Like what?" I said wearily.

"How much are you making?" Her eyes were set on mine, her gaze hard. "A penny a night? Two if you're lucky? These men are wild inside. Like animals. They'll leave you for dead if it suits them."

I lowered my eyes, ashamed. "What do you know about it?" I whispered bitterly.

"Do you think you're the first to come here like this?" May said. "To be in this position? I've seen enough girls like you to fill a lifetime."

"And what of it? It's all I know." I thought of Mother's rebec. Of the way it strung together pieces of song that twined with my voice. I would have given anything to have that back. But the shadows around me were too dark. I squeezed my eyes shut. "All I'm good for."

"I don't believe that," she said.

"You should. It's the truth." Speaking the words left me cold. Even my voice sounded empty.

May gave me a long look. "And how long do you reckon you can manage like this? How long have you been doing this, Dayana? Since the summer? And look at you... You're nearly dead on your feet. Winter is coming, and when it does, this city will freeze over. And they don't come so much in the winter. What then?"

"I'll figure it out," I whispered. "I'll survive."

"And that's enough?" Her voice was gentler now. "Surviving?"

"It has to be."

"Why?" she pressed.

"Because." My voice broke. "It's all I deserve."

I felt the tears sting my eyes again. Felt the cold marks they left on my cheeks as they trailed down into my hair.

"Oh, child," May said softly. "No one deserves all that."

"You wouldn't say that," I managed. "Not if you knew what I'd done."

"Tell me, then," she said. "What is it, that it should be so terrible? Tell me what you've done."

And I did.

I spoke until my throat grew dry and my eyes burned. I spoke of Mother. And Father. And Derren. Of every mistake I had made. It was a relief. Like cutting out a poison. I shifted when I was done, my body suddenly lighter. It all didn't feel quite as heavy anymore, with May standing beside me, listening. I couldn't say what she thought of it all. But she looked at me as if she could see straight into my soul, and there was no hate in her eyes. And that was enough.

"I wouldn't have called the constables," she said finally, when I had talked myself into silence and the quiet hung between us once again.

I nodded, too weary to find the words. I wasn't sure if I had any left. In truth, I had known it already; had realized it in my delirium, sometime in the night, before I wandered to her door.

She laid a hand on my shoulder and kept it there for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was rough. "You did right. With the man. Derren." Her grip was firm. "It had to be done."

I felt something catch in my throat again, but I swallowed heavily, forcing it down.

"It wasn't your fault."

I said nothing. My lips pressed tightly together.

"Not him," she said firmly. "And not your mother, nor your father either. None of it. D'you hear me?"

I nodded.

I didn't believe her. Words. What did they mean in the face of all I had witnessed and lived through? Words were just air. Just noise. I knew what I had done; what I deserved. And Mother, Father, Derren — they were all wrapped up in it. Smothering me. But May's touch felt like a shadow of love, even though I couldn't remember what love felt like anymore. And that hurt in ways I couldn't describe. So I stayed silent, and tried to push my swirling thoughts away. To simply focus on the warmth of her hand.

I think she understood. Because she sat there with me for a long time, still in the quiet. Watching the light change beyond the narrow windows. This silence didn't feel as heavy as any of the ones I had known before. It was a shared silence. It felt safer. Lighter, for the secrets in my heart no longer wore it down.

"You are clever," May said, after what felt like a long time had passed. "Too clever by half to be doing what you are." She sighed. "But you're right. You shouldn't sing here. Not in the city. You shouldn't stay here at all."

"I know." Of course I knew. It had been my plan once, before I'd forgotten what hope could feel like. Before I had consigned myself to this city and stopped imagining the future.

A future. Something beyond tomorrow or next span. Something further than the looming winter. I let my mind drift there. Carefully. Just a step.

"Isn't there anywhere you want to go?" she asked.

 _Was_ there anywhere I still wanted to go?

I looked up at the window, where the light was dimming to dusk. For the first time in a long time, I thought of the sky. Of the map of stars above me.

"Anilin." The name was like a half-remembered whisper. I felt it echo through my chest. I could feel it again. The edges of hope.

"What's there?" Her voice was gentle.

"I don't know," I said honestly. "Maybe… maybe family."

"Maybe?"

I nodded, more firmly now. "Maybe."

"Well," May said, after a short pause. "Anilin is half a world away. You're not going to get there hopping from bed to bed for pennies."

I thought back to my meager collection of coins. Dwindling, still. Of the long winter ahead. "I know."

"You'll need a way out of the city," she murmured, almost to herself. "Papers. Passage on a ship. It'll be expensive." She rose, pacing. "You'll have to earn more, and _far_ more at that. And singing… no, you cannot do it. Not here. Not in Severen. Not in all of Vintas."

"No?" I repeated weakly.

"No," she said, stopping and facing me. "The travel warning will still be in effect. That man — Derren — I have heard of him. The only son of the Noble Lord Fern. Wretchedly rich. Connections to the court. There's not much talk of it here, but they will still be checking the gates. They'll have eyes in all the major cities. It isn't safe. You were wise to keep it to yourself. Even here."

A welt of fear snapped through me, followed immediately by resignation. Nothing had changed, after all. I was what I was.

"Whoring, then. It's the only thing I can do."

"Then do it better."

Her voice was sharp, and I froze, my eyes snapping to her face. Her eyes looked hard in the dimming light.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Dayana." She paused, letting out a heavy sigh. "Kist and crayle, these things. I don't know. But it's the lesser evil. If you're going to do it."

"I don't… know what you mean."

"When you were at the Mare, did you sleep with men like this?" she asked plainly.

"Like what? Men are men. All the same, aren't they?"

"No," she said. "They aren't. A brothel is a brothel, no matter what wrappings you dress it in. But it still sounds like those wrappings were quite fine. How much did those men pay for a night with you? For an hour?"

"The Mare was a fancy whorehouse," I said, "if that's what you mean. They paid in silver."

"Then why are you letting these uncultured pigs paw at you for pennies?"

"What else am I supposed to do?" I protested. "It's all they'll pay. Finding them is hard enough."

"Here," she said, "But there are men, rich men, in this city who _are_ willing to pay more. If you want to do this, you need to find _them_."

" _Where?_ You said it yourself — they're looking for me. And I won't go to another Red Mare." I clenched my fists firmly above the blanket. " _Not ever_."

"No," she said. "And you shouldn't. But you need to leave South Renere, Dayana. If you're going to do this, you _can't_ do it here. You'll end up dead if you keep going like this. You'll starve, or freeze to death, or get stabbed in some alley. They'll take _everything_ you have."

Tehlu, I _knew_ that for the truth. But still, the thought of venturing out into the greater city was terrifying. When I spoke, it was all I could do to keep my voice from shaking.

"If I go out there, they'll find me."

"They won't," she said firmly. "Not if you're smart." She folded her arms across her chest and looked at me plainly. "If you're slipping from inn to tavern, searching for a man to take you to bed, you might as well be waving a red flag at them. The only reason they haven't found you already is because they haven't looked hard enough."

"That isn't true," I said. "I've been careful. I've changed my hair. I've—"

"They haven't found you," May repeated, "because South Renere is full of shit and filth and foreigners, and it disgusts them. But you're not safe here. Not by half."

"Then what are you suggesting?" I lay back against the bed, weary to my bones. "How should I find these men who'll pay me more if I don't go looking?"

"It's simple," she said. "You don't. You let them find you."

I paused, letting the implications of that sink in.

"You want me to be a courtesan."

"That's a strong word. Nothing so crass as that," she said, though her hard gaze betrayed her. "You could be… a well-off young lady, looking for her place in the world. One who is not opposed to the occasional relationship. And if that relationship provides you with a certain standard of living, well, that's just the way of it. Let’s say… a duchess.” 

I held her gaze. "And what's the difference?"

"The story you tell yourself, if nothing else." She glanced away. "Names are important things."

I said nothing, looking anywhere but at her. A _courtesan_. I had been a fancy whore at the Mare, but nothing so fancy as that. I couldn't even imagine how to go about it. I'd make a fine Modegan parody attempting. No matter how she worded it, all I would ever be was a whore. And that was the only story I would ever know. It left me cold.

When May spoke again, her voice was resolved. "If you do this, that is the only sensible way. You don't search. You don't wander the streets until the cold takes you. You take a room at a well respected inn. And you let them court you. And they'll pay — not with money, maybe. Not directly. But they'll buy you meals, jewelry, entertainment. It will be your company they're after just as much as anything else. Maybe even your heart."

I let out a single, bitter laugh. "And if my heart isn't there to give?"

"Then you leave." She looked away. "And take them for all they're worth. And you go."

Silence fell between us. I stared up, letting my eyes drift to the rough wooden beams that made up the ceiling. It felt like too much, somehow. All of it. Everything I had done here, and in the three years before, had been detached. Just a transaction, really. Just skin against skin. It was one thing to sell my body. Selling _myself…_ That was something more. Something so entirely different that it sent chills down my arms.

"What if they're good men?" I whispered. "What if they're looking for something… something I can't ever give?"

"Love, you mean?" May asked softly. "Everybody across the four corners is looking for love. Aren't you?"

I said nothing, my eyes trained firmly on the ceiling. May squeezed my shoulder briefly before stepping away. After a while, I heard the sound of her footsteps fading as she drifted across the room, leaving me in the quiet.

She returned some time later, a steaming bowl of soup between her hands. She helped me up, handing it to me with gentle words. My body ached from the motion, but the smell of the simmering vegetables awoke a sudden hunger within me. I sipped it too quickly, the thick creaminess of it burning my tongue. She left me to my devices soon after, rechecking my pulse and offering me another brew of bitter medicine before retiring for the night.

I lay awake for a long time after that, my eyes tracing the room in the darkness as my thoughts whirled.

Could I do this thing? And was it true? Was I really looking for love? Was I trying to get back something I'd lost, or forgotten?

 _That_ was impossible.

And love… I wouldn't find it in the arms of these men; I knew that without looking. Without even leaving this bed. But perhaps there was something to it — to this plan that walking through the streets of South Renere would never give me. Something intangible. The sort of thing that existed between words spoken and moments exchanged in the light of day, instead of bodies pressed together in the dark.

Something human. Connection, even if it wasn't perfect or true.

I think I just wanted to know what it was like… to be warm.


	18. Kindling

I stayed in May's basement for a full span. The pain became easier to bear after two days, the residual bleeding slowly tapering off to light spatter. May kept me mostly confined to the narrow bed, keeping me well-watered with herbal concoctions mixed into teas. It was a terribly long time. I wasn't used to sitting so still, to giving myself time to think. My days at the Mare had been busy, and in South Renere they were even more so; long hours filled with action as I tried to carve out a semblance of a life. But even so, there wasn't nearly as much time to dwell on my thoughts at May's as I would have imagined. The nights were long. And there were moments in the days — times when May would have matters to attend to, or other patients to see, and I was left to my own devices. But these moments were short, and few and far between. Not enough to gain a stronghold.

The rest of the time, we planned.

May, it turned out, knew a lot about all manner of topics. She was familiar with most of Renere's neighborhoods, and many of the notable inns and establishments. We spent hours poring over the map and discussing the drawbacks and benefits of each. She brought me up to speed on Renere's current politics, state of affairs, and the social standings of various nobles. She attempted to teach me proper courtly etiquette as well, but I already knew it — having learned how to act in polite society from Mother, who had been well-versed in such things.

As the days slipped by and I grew strong enough to leave the confines of the bed, May brought me upstairs to a small bedroom decorated mutely in shades of yellow. It was a lovely room — artfully designed and perfectly immaculate. There was a bed, flawlessly made. A large wooden dresser. A small desk covered with a few trinkets. There was not a single thing out of order — even the things atop the desk seemed to have been placed there with purpose. A large window faced the garden, which was mostly bare for the coming winter, though I saw several plants I didn't recognize lined up along the back, still green beneath the frost. It was a cozy room. But it felt empty, somehow. Cold. As if its soul had slipped away too long ago to count.

She set me down on the bed, creases running across the bedspread beneath my sudden weight, and opened the dresser. There were dresses inside; simple ones of cotton, and fine ones laced with silk. She withdrew them one a time, handling them with care before offering them to me.

"Try it on."

"I can't take these," I protested. "You've done so much for me already."

"Don't be daft," she said shortly. "These are Calia's old things. She left them behind. And I'm sick and tired of them collecting dust. We may have to take them in a bit, but they should fit well enough."

She piled them on the bed and turned to the dresser again, sighing as she searched through the drawers. "So many things. I should've cleared this out ages ago. But, lucky for you, you can have your pick now. Here."

She turned toward me again, holding out a small comb. The top was braided with a pattern of flowers. I took it, running my fingers over the delicate carvings.

"It's beautiful."

May turned away, facing the dresser again. "It was for the wedding."

"May, you should keep this," I insisted, holding the comb back out to her. "I couldn't—"

"You can," she said firmly. And her tone implied there would be no convincing her otherwise. "And you _will_. It'll do much more good for you than it ever did sitting here. Try on the dresses, Dayana."

I turned to the pile, running my fingers through the topmost dress; a thing of flowing silk and velvet. Much finer than anything I would have ever expected to find in this corner of the city. There wasn't a single speck of dust within the fabric folds.

The dresses were big, but only slightly. The bodices were loose, and the hems trailed the floor. May proclaimed the fixes simple enough. Over the next two days, she trimmed and sewed and measured. And trimmed again. I helped, and thought of Calia, and wondered why she would leave such fine things behind. And _when_ had May given up hope that she would ever come back. But I didn't ask, and I didn't venture into the yellow room again.

Slowly and methodically, May prepared me for what was to be my new life; a life that was the same, and yet entirely different. Unimaginable, still, despite our endless conversations and long nights spent wondering in the dark. There was only one thing I was sure of: this time I wouldn't fail. May had lit a fire inside me, and now I would do it — take hold of my destiny. For Denna. For Mother, and even Father and Grandmother and Grandfather. Even if they wouldn't have approved. But I would survive. I would do it for myself. I had lost far too much not to.

So the days passed, and my body healed, and we plotted. May quizzed me on the events of the day, and on the names of noble lords and ladies. We discussed the arts, referencing plays, poems, and songs of significance. This was hard, for it brought up memories of chatting with Denna in kitchens long past, and afternoons of study with Mother. These memories were gentle and sweet, and long forgotten, and cut in ways the darker ones of grief and loss that followed me always didn't anymore. Perhaps it was their childhood innocence. The reminder of a life that was long out of my grasp. Perhaps it would be easier… to forget.

So I put them aside and pushed ahead, squeezing myself to fit a mask that was beautiful and perfect and desirable. And if it didn't have room for all the parts of myself, then what did that matter? The road ahead was hard. And it would do better not to wear my heart on my sleeve — better to push it in, bury it somewhere deep inside. So we spent hours painting my face and styling my hair, until I looked into the mirror glass and barely recognized the girl staring back at me, her cheeks rosy when they should have been pale, and May declared herself satisfied. In the end, the only thing that remained was the matter of my papers — the only way to leave the city in the foreseeable future.

"I'll take care of it," was all May said when I brought up the subject early on. She had taken care of everything. More than I could have asked for, and far more than I can ever repay. So I didn't press the subject. The days passed, and she made no mention of papers, and I said nothing.

By the following Luten, the extra dresses were trimmed to fit and packed into a small carrying case, along with Calia's comb and several more of her things. I stood before May in her foyer, clad in a dress of plain homespun, with my cloak wrapped around my shoulders. My hair was twisted upwards, strands falling artfully to frame my face. There were gentle traces of paint around my eyes. I looked, for all intents and purposes, like a proper lady. Of course, Derren's knife was still securely strapped to my hip, but I wasn't quite prepared to let it go.

"Don't dawdle," May said firmly. "Go on, straight to the Central District. You look much too nice to be walking round these parts."

"I won't."

"Good." She was silent for a bit, looking me over. I said nothing. My hands trembled very slightly and I slipped them out of sight. I suddenly found it very difficult to say goodbye. May reached out and brushed a strand of hair back from my face, her weathered skin rough against my cheek.

"Remember the plan," she said. "Be open, but not too much. Give them nothing that isn't earned. Don't overstay your welcome. And don't travel in the winter. The roads aren't safe."

I nodded.

"There's one more thing." She held out a thick envelope of heavy parchment. "Here."

"What is it?" The envelope was stiff, the parchment almost unyielding.

"Papers," she said simply. "You'll have no problem with these. They'll be good anywhere in the four corners, should you be asked."

I fumbled with the seal but she reached out, lowering my hand. "No, don't open it now. Go on, the day is passing. You should go, settle in before the evening rush. You won't have coin to spare."

I nodded with as much determination as I could manage, though I could feel the prickling sting at the edges of my eyes as I looked at her face. I couldn't imagine how it came to be that our paths had crossed. She had given me more than I would ever deserve. And I had nothing for her in return. Not even coin enough to cover the medicine she had given me, and she had refused all my attempted offers. "May—"

"Come now," she said. "None of that. And don't come back, you hear me? I don't expect to see you again."

"Okay," I said softly. I picked up the case, hugging it to my chest. Then I paused, looking at her again. My eyes traced the weathered lines of her face.

"Be careful." Her voice was quiet.

"May," I tried again, pushing past the overwhelming tightness in my throat. "How can I ever repay you? I—"

"Hush." She stepped forward and I briefly smelled a faint trace of lemon before her arms were around me, pulling me against the rough fabric of her dress. I hugged her back, trembling despite my best efforts. She held me for a long moment before stepping away, her hands back down at her sides. As if the hug had never been.

"You remind me of her," she said quietly, her composure seeming to crack around the edges. Her voice shook slightly and she offered me a feeble smile. For the first time, she looked like an old woman. "Go on, get out of here."

"Thank you," I breathed. "For everything."

I stepped past her and out into the cold Dearth morning. She gave me a final wave and firmly closed the door.

I didn't ask which her she meant.

* * *

Leaving South Renere was easy. As May suggested, I had no intentions to linger. But there was still one stop I had to make before I left it all behind. One goodbye that mattered.

The desk was empty when I stepped inside the Iron Tree. I walked through to the quiet dining room where I found Charrel behind the bar. He smiled when he saw me.

"Dayana. You are back."

I offered him a smile and sat down at the polished counter, placing the case on the floor at my feet. "Just for a minute. I'm sorry about before…"

He shook off my apology, his eyes thoughtful behind his wild beard as he looked me over. "You are leaving."

I nodded.

" _Nagda_. Not coming back."

"No," I agreed. "I wanted to thank you. And Hana. And say goodbye."

" _Nia."_ He let out a deep chuckle. "No thank you needed." He reached behind the bar and lifted a bottle of rosy wine. "Hana not here. But let us drink. Here, I have fruit water with you."

"It's pretty potent," I warned him, smiling as I accepted the glass he pushed across the bar. "Not like scutten. Don't go drinking that off on your own. Could be dangerous."

He chuckled again, folding his arms as he watched me across the bar.

"Where?"

"Far," I said, shrugging. "Away." _Anilin_ hovered on the edge of my tongue, but I didn't have the courage to let it out. As if speaking it aloud would make it untrue.

"Good," Charrel said. "Good."

I took a sip from the glass, the wine sweet and light, and a comfortable silence lapsed between us. I lowered my hands, twisting them around the stem of the glass. It was hard to explain what the safety of the Iron Tree had meant to me. It had been a place where I could go when I had nowhere else. A safe place to store my things or treat myself to a spare bit of conversation. Somewhere to rest my head in solitude when it all got too hard.

They were things far too difficult to voice. Every word that slipped to my tongue fell flat before it even tasted the air. I let the silence stretch, reaching instead for the envelope May had given me. The seal was a simple twisting of the flap. I worked it open, glancing at the papers within.

It was a writ of safe conduct, scripted across soft parchment and stamped with the seal of Renere's Travel Council. The creases ran deep when I unfolded it, as if they had set in some time ago, and a slightly odd bitter smell filled my nose. Something almost metallic that faded away before I could really bring it to mind. For all that, the ink looked fresh and clear, and the date set into the topmost corner was only two years past as of the first of Caitelyn. It was a beautiful document. Perfect, by all accounts. I wondered briefly how May had managed it when my eyes were drawn to the name framed within the central column. I swallowed, the wine suddenly heavy in my throat.

I looked at the date of issue again. _Was_ it an eight after all? It was nearly impossible to tell. If I hadn't been looking I never would have caught it. But it could have… _could have once been a five._ My hand shook very slightly.

The document was no forgery.

"Dayana?"

I glanced up to see Charrel watching me, and I realized how pale my face must have looked. I folded the parchment and put it carefully away.

"It's nothing," I said, taking a rather large gulp of wine.

He stayed uncharacteristically quiet, watching me, then took a sip from his own glass and made a sour face.

" _Kist._ Fruit water," he said resolutely, smiling at me from behind his beard. He reached behind the bar for his treasured scutten. "A real drink?"

I let out a small laugh and shook my head, toying with the stem of my wineglass again as he busied himself with the stone bottle, pouring a small cup of the fine dark wine. I waited until he had taken several sips before speaking, keeping my voice casually light.

"Do you know… what happened to May's daughter?"

He frowned, lowering the cup. "Why ask?"

"Just curious."

"It was not good thing," he said abruptly. "Nothing to be curious."

I said nothing, waiting.

"Is not good," he repeated roughly, and there was a bitterness in his voice I had never heard before. "No mother should bury her child."

My chest clenched, and for just a moment it felt like all the air had slipped from the room.

"No," I managed, after a heavy, silent moment. A tremor ran through my hands and I lowered the wineglass with deliberate care so as not to knock it against the wood, lest it shatter.

Like Mother.

I wanted to say something. Anything. But I couldn't find the words, or meet Charrel's eyes. May was stronger than I could have ever imagined. I didn't need to know the rest after all. Her story was her story. And if May wanted to trust me with a piece of it — just a small piece to bring to Anilin in Calia's name — then I would do it. That was the shape of the fire that burned within me now.

"Give Hana my best," I said, when the glasses were empty at last. " _Rieusa_." And with a final goodbye, I left the Iron Tree for the last time; stopping only to collect the rest of my things from my secret fireplace. It was the last stronghold, and without it there was nothing holding me back. So I made my way pointedly down the street, walking with the certainty and grace of Mother's station, until South Renere was far behind me.

It took a long time — long enough for a dull ache to begin echoing through my feet with every footstep. But I didn't stop at all. Not until I was on the very edges of Renere's Central District. And that was terrifying in a whole new way.

The very streets there were alive, teeming with people who rushed purposefully to and fro. It had been months since I'd walked on roads not cracked and coated in filth, and everything from the bustling, well-dressed crowd to the glimpses of smooth cobblestones beneath their feet made me nervous. Sweat gathered across my skin despite the frigid air as I stepped into those nicer parts of the city. People streamed endlessly past me. All sorts. But all of the respectable kind.

I pulled my feet along, trying not to falter. One misstep, and they would surely spot the imposter in their midst. The guards would be upon me in seconds. At any moment, they would recognize me — see the face of a scared little whore beneath the paints. If they only touched my hand, they'd feel it tremble. But despite my unease, when I glanced at my reflection in a shop window, the dark eyes that stared back at me were those of a lady. Not so out of place with those around her. A _duchess_.

The trembling in my hands ceased, and I walked on.

I took a small room at Frames, a boarding house just outside the heart of Central that May had marked on her map. It was modest but respectable, and with my savings I could afford to stay there for nearly three span, assuming I spent my coin wisely. _Three span._ It seemed like a terribly short time. And if I failed, there was nowhere to go. No safety net. I had _promised_ May I wouldn't go back.

Which meant I had no time to spare.


	19. The House of Gold

I was in The Guild when he approached me.

I remember it all: the way the air had smelled faintly of cedar and lemongrass as it crackled with warmth, lit by the flickering glow of several roaring hearthfires and a sea of candles. The light had been dim, as usual, though bright enough to see the words I etched into the paper atop the polished surface of the bar. The wood beneath my forearms was dark, smooth oak and pleasantly warm to the touch. I hadn't meant to, but I was lost within the words that flowed onto the page through my fingers as the air buzzed around me. A hum of indistinct conversations underscored by the soft turnings of a harp. His voice had broken through all that; a light tenor in my ear that nearly made me jump in surprise.

"A journal, my lady?"

I hadn't jumped, but only because it was my ninth span in Central, and I had put extensive work into not startling easily. Even when distracted. Especially when waiting. And I _was_ waiting. Still, it was a near miss, and my hands twitched as I closed my notebook and turned to meet the eyes of the gentleman beside me. I smiled.

He was tall and slim, his hair a dark tangle of curls that pleasantly framed his face before spilling across the trim of his tunic. His eyes, light blue and sparkling with traces of amusement, held mine. As if he knew exactly how much he'd startled me, and it gave him great pleasure to watch me deny it now.

It was an invitation. The first step of a dance that could be dangerous as easily as it was beautiful. The entire formation precarious. But I'd had ample time to learn the steps. And the rhythm.

"A journal?" I repeated, laying down the notebook. "This? No, sir. It's a study."

"Really? And what are you studying? If I may ask?"

"You may." I smiled. "Though I'm not sure if I should answer. You are, after all, a stranger. We've hardly even met, and already you're asking me to give my secrets away. What is a proper lady to think of such behavior?"

"This is fair," he conceded with a smile, and gestured to the empty stool beside me. "Then it only seems proper for a gentleman to get to know the lady better. In order to inquire after her various secrets, and perhaps offer some of his own. May I sit?"

"You may," I repeated, and slid over my half-empty glass of fruit wine to make room on the bar. He settled comfortably into the stool, turning to face me again.

"Thank you. Can I buy you a drink, my lady? Before we get into the mutual spilling of secrets?"

"Ah, but I already have a drink." I smiled brightly. "Which you very well know, sir. Are you trying to get me drunk so that I spill my secrets faster?"

"Guilty, I'm afraid," he admitted with a laugh. "Since you've caught me, perhaps I can tempt you with food instead."

"That, you may," I said, and let him wave down the barman, which he did quite efficiently before proceeding to order a spread of cheeses, hams, and fruits. I was a fan of that particular platter, and so I smiled once again.

"A good choice," I told him. "A large enough spread to impress a lady, but not so much food as to scare her away."

"Surely," he agreed, returning his attention to me. "You are familiar with it."

"Intimately. It's quite the commitment of small plates."

"A minor commitment," he said, almost as if to reassure me. "One that doesn't even require the use of a fork, should you not wish it."

"Quite. And what of you, sir? Will you commit to a fork?"

"I can both commit and not commit," he said easily. "As the lady wishes."

"So if I wish it, you shall abandon all decorum and descend on the cheese platter with nothing but your hands?"

"It is a great sacrifice, but if you ask it of me, I shall, of course, lay down my silverware and throw myself upon this platter of platters in a most barbarian manner. If only it pleases you."

I laughed brightly. "I should like to see that."

"Then shall I throw my fork aside, my lady?"

"Don't throw it too far," I cautioned. "You could take someone's eye out."

"Fair," he agreed. "I must bow to your wisdom."

"You bow quickly." I noted. "I see you are most eager for my secrets."

"I will admit a certain curiosity," he said. "But before I ask for your secrets again, I must first ask for your name. Though in good faith, I will start with mine. I am Julian. And you, my lady?"

"Alana," I said easily, and allowed him to lightly brush his lips against the back of my hand.

The barman returned, depositing the aforementioned platter before us along with two sets of silverware and a glass of dark beer for Julian. He winked at me before melting into the background. Julian, too busy scrutinizing the spread, didn't notice. I waited until I had his attention again before shooting him a pointed glance, smiling, and deliberately picking up my fork and using it to spear a grape. It tasted crisp and sweet, like a perfect summer. Definitely imported from Yll.

"I've decided to allow you to retain your courtly decorum," I said, smiling. "For now."

"I'm relieved." He picked up his own cutlery and shaved off a piece of cheese. "I would have surely done it for you, but it pained me."

"Hmmm." I dipped some cheese in a bit of honey and popped it in my mouth, savoring the sweetness. "That does make it more impressive."

Julian helped himself to a slice of honeyed apple before gesturing at my notebook. "So, Lady Alana, will you tell me what you're studying?"

"Oh, this and that," I said lightly. He raised his eyebrows and I relented. "All right, people."

"People?" He frowned.

"People," I confirmed, the lie slipping effortlessly off my tongue. Like every other one I'd told tonight. "Their social interactions. It's fascinating stuff."

"It does sound interesting. What is the study for?"

"My curiosity." I smiled, letting him see a sliver of teeth.

" _Really?_ Is that all?"

"All right, no, I'm trying to be terribly mysterious," I conceded, and leaned closer to add in a whisper. "I'm trying to write a book, you see. And I like to come here and people-watch. For inspiration."

"Oh." He couldn't contain his grin. "So you're a writer. Are you published?"

The curiosity in his voice was so thick I could have sliced through it, had I wanted to. I briefly met his eyes and smiled, a little more shyly this time, before glancing down at my hands.

"Oh, nothing so bold as that," I said, with a tone of moderate disappointment. "I dabble. But I hardly know if I'm any good. It's something I'd like to improve on. And I'd love for my interactions to be realistic, you see. So, I study."

"So what have you learned?" he asked, tilting his head toward mine. "From all your studying?"

"Well," I whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. "Do you see that couple? Over there?" I pointed down the length of the bar, where a squat Vintish gentleman and his bony wife sat together in silence over their own array of small plates. "They've both got another partner." I leaned even closer, until my lips almost brushed his ear. "In bed, I mean."

"Lord and Lady Avelian?" he gasped, then stifled his words and shot the couple a furtive glance. I giggled.

"And they've no idea," I said softly. "But that isn't all. Wouldn't you like to know who they're sleeping with?"

"Well, go on then."

"Anesta," I breathed. "The Modegan serving girl."

"No! Really? The one who's here Felling nights?"

"She's here tonight, too," I offered. "She's in the back now, but she'll be out soon enough."

"All right," he said. "And who is Lady Avelian sleeping with, then?"

" _Anesta_ ," I repeated, and watched his mouth drop.

"Tehlu!" he gasped. "So they're _both—_ And they've no idea? _Really?_ "

I nodded and bit off another piece of cheese. Julian eyed the couple once more before returning his attention to me. "You saw all that? From your studying?"

I nodded easily.

"Anything else?"

I shrugged. "The seafood supplier will be changing next span, and the cost of the membership will be going up."

"Tiny gods, they're bleeding us dry."

"A bit," I agreed. "Though I hear they sometimes offer discounts to pretty girls."

"Well, then you must be simply getting in for free," he said with an easy smile. I returned it.

"That," I said simply, "is quite enough secrets for now."

"Of course," he said, and I saw his eyes linger on the golden pin below my collar before settling back on my face. "I forget myself. Allow me to share some of my own before you tell me what else you know."

I leaned back and gestured grandly for him to continue. And then I waited for him to tell me what I already knew. That he was Julian Panelion, the only son of Sparathain Grayden Panelion of Renere's Trade Ministry. That he was a renowned member of The Guild, along with his parents, though they maintained the membership mostly for appearances and didn't often frequent the establishment. His father's deepest desire was to have Julian join him in the Ministry before inheriting the title.

 _And you will_ , I thought silently, as Julian picked at the platter again before telling me about his time at Renere's university. You will. But your passion is not trading, but writing. Poetry mostly, but you've ventured into other forms of the art as well. Though your father thinks it an unbecoming hobby. And your mother, Lysa, has also asked you to put it aside. But you haven't. So this is where you come to spend your evenings. This is where you come to drink, and write, and find women to bring home who'll have you. And you have sat here for many nights now and watched me, just as I have watched you, though our eyes never met. And I've intrigued you — I, the girl with the notebook who sits at the bar of The Guild and carves words endlessly into paper. I know, because you've asked of me. You've seen me work through at least two cheese platters on my own before finally approaching me. It took you a long time, so you must have planned it carefully. You didn't rush, and I appreciate that of you.

_I appreciate it, Julian, because it tells me so much more of your constitution than watching you ever has. And I've been watching too long a time._

Pleasantly spent, the time flew by, until even the platter of platters had grown scant and empty, and we both expressed a desire for more food. Julian suggested the restaurant at the west end of The Guild, but I had frequented it well enough to crave a change of scenery. And besides, Marette was working tonight, and did she really need to see me entertain another man right in The Guild's main dining hall? She already disliked me well enough.

So I let Julian help me don my coat and lead me away from the polished bar. I followed him through the dim lounge as we wended our way between poufs and small leather couches and endless groups of chattering people. Past small tables topped with food and drinks and candles. Around the partial screen — which was woven together into a pattern of golden fans — that separated the parlour from the lounge.

Gerald smiled graciously at us from behind the counter that framed the entryway.

"Sir Panelion. Lady Alana." He took in the sight of us, his eyes lingering on my face.

"Good night, Gerald," I said. "I shall see you soonest. Tomorrow."

"Very well, my lady. Have a good evening."

"Always," I said, smiling, and let Julian lead me out into the falling night.

It was cool, but not so cold as all that. Nearly spring already. Still, I let Julian put his arm around my shoulders. It was a nice gesture, and warmth was hard enough to come by that I wouldn't be fool enough to turn it away. We made our slow way from The Guild like that, with his arm firmly around me. And I glanced back at its unobtrusive sign, swaying slightly in the wind, and thought back to that night when I saw it for the first time.

A night much colder than this one.

I had slipped into The Guild as darkness fell, its black tendrils settling over the city streets like black velvet. The cold hugging my shoulders melted away as I stepped into its dark interior. I was well familiar with it now, but back then the flickering quality of the light had intrigued me, and I had looked past the screen to the grand lounge in wonder.

It was beautiful in a dark and mysterious way that spelled out promise.

"Welcome to The Guild." It was Gerald, dressed in a fine tunic of silk and velvet, who greeted me with a courtly bow. "I don't believe I have had the pleasure of meeting you before, my lady."

My response was a smile, and silence.

"Are you a new member?"

I wasn't. And he charged me dearly for it, despite his apologetic expression. One silver bit for the night. I didn't like to think about how much a full membership would cost; a pass which would grant me unlimited entry.

I remembered how he had smiled with welcome as I handed over the precious coin. How he had brought out a ledger from behind the counter and dipped his pen into the inkwell. Then he paused, the pen hovering over the page. A drop of ink suspended off its metal tip. "Ah, but I haven't asked for your name, my lady." His eyes met mine once more. "If you would be so kind?"

For half a second, I was silent. In that half second, which lasted an eternity in my mind, I stood frozen. I thought of Denna, and how I had carried her everywhere all this time. How every name I wrapped around myself was like a small piece of her, keeping me strong. And now I was standing before yet another door with yet another path she would have never walked. She would have found another way. But this was the only road I saw.

And perhaps it would be easier to walk it alone.

"Alana," I said. And just like that, I left Denna outside The Guild. And my voice didn't shake at all.

The time after that melted away in a smattering of moments. I explored The Guild that first night; moving through the lounge, with its low chairs and couches and small candlelit tables; slipping along the bar, my fingers trailing across the polished wood; glancing inside the restaurant at the far back. The Garden, it was called. The food was a marvel; though I wouldn't learn that until later, when Yarell bought me my first dinner. They served meat and fish prepared in ways I'd never imagined, and delicate sweets, and fresh vegetables even in midwinter. And wine pairings to sing of. All luxuries well-reflected in the prices, though there was a discount for members. But it was laughable.

And the people. They were everywhere — in the lounge, the restaurant, at the bar. On the roof, despite the frigid winter air. In the various dipping pools that comprised The Guild's lower level. Lords and ladies, and noblemen. Rich merchants. Artists. Writers. The entire cast of Felward's Falling — the play being put on at Renere's Winterlight Theatre, which I saw three span later with a young musician named Clef. I enjoyed both the play and his company.

But that first night, I met a gentleman on my explorations, and it all seemed easy as breathing. We talked, and he treated me to wine and bread and cheese. We sat in a dark corner of the lounge for hours and sipped wine and spoke of small nothings. He wanted me to leave with him that night, but I wanted this new life to be something more. To be _better_. And May had said I was to be a duchess. And a duchess didn't sell out to the first man that came along and offered her a warm bed. So we parted with plans to meet again next day.

But he didn't return, and I spent my second night at The Guild alone with my thinning purse, a glass of wine I could barely afford, and a gnawing hunger for company. And my endless, swirling thoughts.

* * *

"How much is a membership?"

Gerald smiled at me from across the counter. A span had passed since I arrived in Central. In that time, I had visited The Guild eight times and spent nearly all my coin. And built a tenuous friendship with Gerald based on a sea of deceptions. I had also explored other establishments in the vicinity, went out with four gentlemen, one of them thrice, and spent the night with a merchant who gifted me a fine pearl necklace to match my "silky skin," which I promptly sold for a full round. But The Guild — where young creatives, nobles, and lords spent their evenings — was my best chance to find what I was looking for.

And if I kept paying the visitor fee, I would run myself into the ground.

"At last." Gerald's eyes twinkled. "I was starting to believe you would never ask, my lady."

"Me too," I admitted. And I had been hoping I wouldn't need to. But the cost of living in Central was exorbitant, and things were not progressing nearly as fast as I would have liked. Or as fast as I could afford. I twisted Mother's ring in a flash of anxiety.

"Ah, but why? You are surely fond of our establishment."

"Oh, I am. It has the most perfect atmosphere. Beautiful design. And the food… Ah, Gerald, it's to die for."

"Quite true." He looked pleased at the compliment. "We would love to have you join us. In the official sense, of course. It's a royal for an annual membership, my lady."

_A royal…_

"Ah." My heart sank. Tehlu. It was a veritable fortune; _more money than I could even imagine._

My dismay must have shown on my face, for Gerald offered me an understanding smile. "It is steep, my lady. But, if you will forgive me for saying so, if you continue to pay the visitor fee, you will spend quite a bit more. And before spring is out, at that."

"I know." I sighed. It wasn't really a concern. I wouldn't _last_ until spring.

The corners of his lips pursed slightly as he watched me, as if feeling out the edges of a frown, but he said nothing. The door opened behind me, and a blast of cold wind preceded a couple who stumbled inside, laughing. I stepped aside, watching them approach Gerald at the counter. The woman had on a beautiful layered dress of blue satin beneath a wool coat that flared around her ankles, and her ashen hair was set in elaborate curls atop her head. The man was dark-haired and clean-shaven, and wore a charcoal suit fitted to his slim frame. There was a silver elaborate G pinned to his lapel, glittering as it caught the candlelight. The man greeted Gerald with enthuthiasm before disappearing behind the screen, pulling the woman along with him.

I sat down on the elaborately-carved wooden bench opposite the screen as they walked past, glancing down at my hands. Mother's ring had twisted to the side along my finger. I fiddled with it, setting it straight again.

"Lady Alana?"

I glanced up, and Gerald's dark eyes met mine, his expression quite unreadable.

"Yes, yes, I'm coming," I said, making my way back to the counter as I pulled out a silver bit. My purse felt horribly light without it, as if it contained little more of substance. Not that the silver itself was heavy. I twined the coin between my fingers for a long, silent moment. If I didn't find a proper man soon, it wouldn't be long before I was back on the street. And what then?

"No membership today, then?" Gerald offered me an encouraging smile.

"I haven't got a royal, Gerald," I admitted.

He looked uncomfortably taken aback. "I apologize, my lady. I did not mean—"

"It's fine," I said. "Fine. I'm the one who asked, after all."

I twirled the coin between my fingers again, not quite willing to part with it. Was tonight the night I would meet the man who would change everything? If I didn't, I'd have to start selling off Calia's dresses. And if I did that, then what would I wear to The Guild? I surely wouldn't bed a gentleman if I showed up in secondhand rags.

Not that I wanted to bed any gentlemen at all. But maybe that was a mistake. Maybe if I'd slept with Caspar on that first night, I'd be better off now.

Tehlu, I couldn't fail. Not again. _Not at this, too._

"You are visiting Renere, yes?" Gerald asked, his soothing lilt breaking into my thoughts and bringing me back to the present. I met his eyes again. "To study at the university?"

"Yes," I agreed, though it was profoundly untrue.

"And your family… they cannot help you?"

"No, they don't… My father doesn't… doesn't support my choices. At U.R. And as such, he refuses to pay for a Guild membership. I've asked."

"I am sorry to hear that. Truly."

I sighed again, then carried on, caught up in the web I'd woven for Alana. "Thank you. Yes, me as well, it's all quite disappointing. Father wanted me to study mathematics and logic, you see, so I could work at the courts. But I fell in love with… writing. Poetry and the like. And Father is displeased. He says it's horribly unbecoming for a lady. ' _What will you do, Alana? Travel the four corners and recite poetry like some common bard?_ '" I scrunched up my face in imitation. "And so what if I do? But he wouldn't have it. He says if I have an inkling for the arts, I should sponsor a young poet, rather than jumping in headfirst myself."

"A rather old view of the world." There was a flash of pain in Gerald's eyes, and I pushed on.

"I know! Just look how many proper lords and ladies at The Guild are fond of the arts themselves. But he will not budge." I blinked then, letting the stinging that lived in the crevices around my eyes surge to the surface, until I was sure he could see it in my eyes. "He may even stop paying my tuition, Gerald! He'd have me give this up, or come straight home. I just don't know what I'll do. And it's all so much worse because The Guild is just the _perfect_ place."

"For what?" His kind voice was thick with understanding.

"For my creative inspiration!" I explained. "I've never had so many ideas as the last few nights I spent here. It's where my muse comes alive."

He smiled at that. "We do pride ourselves on maintaining a stimulating atmosphere."

"Rightfully," I said, twirling the coin again. I sighed dramatically. It was easy with Alana. So easy. Just another act in a life full of pretending. "Well, I suppose I can enjoy it for a few nights more, at least. Write my aria before Father cuts me off entire."

I held out the coin and then paused, a thought striking me. "Unless…"

"I can see the spark of inspiration in your eyes," he said kindly. "What is it?"

"Isn't there _anything_ I can do, Gerald? To earn a membership? Any work, or…?"

"My lady!" he said, aghast. "It would hardly be proper to put you to work like some common—"

"Stop, you sound like Father." I frowned. "I was raised with more sense than that. If I were a proper lady, I wouldn't wish to be a poet."

"Still…"

"Oh, go on," I said. "Gerald, _please_. I can wash dishes. Or cook, or bake. I can do all sorts. Isn't there _anything_?"

"All that? Simply for a membership?"

"And maybe a bit to set aside to cover my tuition?" I shrugged. "A proper job. I can do it. I promise. But I must have my evenings, Gerald. Those nights when the candles flicker and the people come. When the lounge comes alive. That's when I'm most inspired. And it must look all proper when I'm there. I _am_ a lady, after all. Not some common serving girl." I smiled. "What do you say?"

He considered me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "If that is what you wish, my lady, I believe we can come to an arrangement. If you really think you can do it…"

I nodded eagerly.

He sighed. "Come along then, let us see what we can sort out."

And, somehow, we _had_ sorted it out. For the first time in a long time, things had finally fallen into place in a way that made sense. And there was no man at The Guild who had rushed to my rescue and done it for me. No, _I_ had done it for myself. And eventually I came to realize that I was doing it _all_ for myself. Even with the men who came to consider themselves my benefactors. In the end, everything I did, every decision I made, was mine.

So Gerald and the manager, Aerin, and I came to an arrangement. I would come to The Guild five times a span, and I would be put to work. Nothing too strenuous, and certainly nothing client-facing — for I was a lady, and engaging in such work would appear… unbecoming. But that aside, I would do all that Aerin asked. I would clean, and wash, and help compose promotional materials, since I was such an aspiring writer. Or I would mind inventory and organize endless bottles of wines and spirits. Or scrub and prepare mounds of vegetables for the cooks.

I would do this around my nonexistent school schedule, which was flexible and subject to change, for I was also a member of many nonexistent study and writing groups. And so I would come in the mornings. Or the afternoons. And in the evenings, I would put on my finest dresses and stroll through the front door as a guest, and be addressed as such. And I would, of course, have my very own pin. A golden G that I could wear proudly on my dress signifying my coveted Guild membership.

And so it commenced. The days turned to span, and I slowly made The Guild my home, learning all its hidden cracks and crannies. I wasn't drowning in coin, but I had enough to keep my small room at Frames with its solitary window and my own piece of sky. Enough for food on my plate. For the occasional glass of wine or platter of cheese that allowed me to play the role that I needed to play. And the men I met there slowly began to fill in the gaps. And meeting them, talking to them, grew easier. Soon, it was as second-nature to me as breathing.

And that was when I began to seek them out, to trace their outlines and shade them in before we even spoke. To mold myself into the version of Alana I needed to become to draw their interest. Tailored for each of them. And the time I spent with them grew longer in turn, until we inevitably parted. They were simple relationships. Easy. They all started the same way — a chance meeting at The Guild. A pleasant night of laughter and drinking and eating. And then we would see each other again. And again. We would leave The Guild behind and spend our days and evenings wandering Renere. We would see plays and operas and visit fine restaurants. That winter, I went skating no less than eight times, each time with my hand on the arm of a different gentleman. And when enough nights had passed between us and darkness fell once again, thick and soft as velvet, I would let them strip off the layers of cloth between us. Though my mask stayed firmly intact.

And then, eventually, the relationships would falter. I could never pinpoint why, but I was never disappointed to see them go. It was easier that way. No long-term attachments to wade through. And the freedom to try again stretched out before me. They didn't cling to me so tightly, back then. Not like later. Perhaps they were the wrong sort of men for it, or I was simply still too young, still figuring it out. But my time at The Guild didn't pass too badly. It was a bright spot, even. A bit of home. Sometimes I still wonder how much longer I could have managed it all. How different things would have been.

Had I not met Julian.


	20. A Time for Light

" _As if she were a shadow fading into night. And then all was black as coal. And silence reigned._ This is absolutely lovely. A fan of the subjunctive mood, Lady Alana?"

"Yes, a bit. I enjoy the way it complicates the language."

"Ahh. And perhaps this is a study as well. Of yourself this time."

"Are you implying that I'm complicated?"

"Well, I have only just met you, my lady. But you already have me befuddled."

" _My_ _lady_? Aren't we past the honorics yet, Julian? I've consented to dinner after all. Go on..."

Of course, apologies. _Alana_. It's a beautiful name. Would you like more wine?"

"All right, just a bit. Thank you. Either way, I reckon you're reading too deeply into it. This is no memoir."

"Right, of course I wouldn't like to presume. But could it be that your outlook on life itself is complicated, and this is reflected in your words? Every word you put down anchors your soul to the parchment. And this is no less evident in any fictional scenarios you craft. Stories are how we live through difficult moments after all."

"I rather think you're projecting."

"I may be at that. But really, this is wonderful."

"I'm glad you think so. But enough about my silly poems. You'll make me blush like some young farmgirl. This fish is amazing. Do you want a piece?"

"Hmmm. Yes, it's _very_ good. The hint of lemon really is perfect. But your words are finer still."

"Tehlu, stop it already. You're a fine writer yourself, aren't you?

"That… is another thing that is somewhat complicated…"

* * *

I first spotted Julian about five span after I began frequenting The Guild. He was memorable, mostly because a glance at him was akin to looking in a mirror glass. He had been perched at the other edge of the bar, poring over a thick, ink-splattered notebook. I had been doing something similar, though my own notebook was mostly full of nonsensical scribbles rather than lines of inspiration. And I was quite secretive about its contents; mostly because they were nothing worth sharing. Fortunately the secrecy only added to my intrigue. The dark-haired man down the bar, however, did not appear to be putting on airs. The ink that flowed between his fingers was thick and endless, and clearly full of heart.

"Julian Panelion," Sela told me next day when I casually mentioned the writer at the bar. It was early afternoon, and we were standing together at the edge of the kitchen, carefully shaving black winter truffles into paper-thin strips. I had left Emrys, my suitor of the previous evening, in his lush bed to attend my nonexistent writing class, and was now diligently putting in the hours I had promised Aerin at The Guild.

"He's a proper lord, that one. Son of a sparathain." Her voice faded to a near whisper, and I had to lean in to hear the rest. "Bit of a skirt-chaser, though. I swear, he leaves with a different girl each night."

I managed an easy laugh. "Tehlu, Sela. What is he, some whore?"

"Of course not!" she said, scandalized. She glanced around the busy kitchen, but no one was standing within hearing distance and the acoustics of the space prevented our words from traveling too far. Between the chopping of food, the loud directives of the head cook, and the sizzle of the huge iron stove in the far corner, it was the best place in The Guild for a private conversation. Still, she lowered her voice further. "I'm just saying he's a little loose. But I wouldn't mind a romp with him behind the bar." She shot me a devious glance. " _Why_ , are you interested?"

I shrugged.

"Aren't you seeing Emrys?"

"Emrys bores me. He talks of nothing but himself."

"Well that's how noble lords and ladies are. They—" She broke off abruptly and shot me a nervous glance, as if only just remembering that I was a lady. Not that I was _actually_ a lady…

"It's all right," I said quickly, offering up a laugh to put her at ease. "It's perfectly true."

She glanced down at her truffle shavings, keeping her eyes on her work as she spoke. "You sure don't act like a lady, Alana. I didn't think most ladies knew their way round a kitchen. And you don't talk about yourself one bit."

"There's nothing to talk about. It's all the same dramatic family mess you've heard a hundred times, I'm sure. Go on, tell me about Julian. Is he a writer, too?"

"I've heard he dreams of being a poet." She sounded absolutely smitten. "But that his parents aren't pleased at all…"

She launched into a monologue then, detailing the finer points of Julian's hopes, dreams, and full family history. And an accounting of all the women he'd taken to bed from The Guild. There were many, and it appeared he didn't discriminate based on social standing. Perhaps the lower the status of the lady in whose company he spent the evening, the more of a rebellion he considered the encounter. And according to Sela, his entire life was currently a series of acts of rebellion, because he was to take up his father's title of sparathain one day, and did not want to. So, really, a romp behind the bar with a kitchen maid might not be such an impossibility. Were Sela inclined to try. Which, I knew, she wouldn't.

"So, will you abandon poor Emrys and set your sights on Julian instead?" she finally asked me with a wicked grin when she finished outlining all the intricacies of Julian's life in crystalline detail. I was certain at least an hour had passed.

"No. I reckon he sounds like an utter cad. I'll stick to Emrys. He's all yours."

Sela actually looked disappointed. And informed me that she was rather displeased, since she was used to living vicariously through me and my endless love affairs. To her, I was something of an anomaly. A lady who stood beside her in the kitchen. Something like a friend. Every other woman who worked in The Guild resented me for the arrangement I'd made with Aerin. They scoffed at my endless string of failed relationships and treated me with thinly veiled contempt. Whenever we spoke, I could feel the anger blazing beneath their words, even if they never said anything directly untoward. They didn't dare. Aerin had been perfectly clear with them all about my status, and how I was to be addressed. And how nothing would be said of it. But the questions in their eyes were clear as glass. I could hardly blame them. Perhaps they could see the truth — that I was an imposter. That I was no different from them. No lady at all.

Sela, though, was different. She had been the first to approach me, and to engage me in conversation all those span ago. She was the only one who spoke to me with no reservations and truly seemed to enjoy my company. She was a crass and honest girl with no care for the games nobility liked to play. Nor did she care for the bitter gossip of servants. I appreciated her more than I could ever say. And her words were almost enough to make me seek out Julian. Just because she'd asked. But if he was merely frequenting The Guild in search of fleeting company, he didn't seem worth pursuing. What could he offer me besides, perhaps, an enjoyable evening? I couldn't risk it. I already burned through men so fast that Gerald had made a point to comment on it the previous span. Albeit vaguely.

" _Are you studying the male psyche? For your next work?"_

My answer had been nearly as open-ended as the question. " _I'm writing a ballad. And I shall like to know what love is."_

" _Love."_ He seemed to contemplate it. " _The greatest question of the four corners, my lady. What will you do, should you discover it?"_

" _Sing of it from the roofs,"_ I said, in my best mystically artistic voice. " _And marry the fool, I suppose."_

That had been the day after Emrys had first approached me and asked to spend an evening in my company. I had watched him for several days before that, of course. And then, finding him acceptable, I'd ensured I'd draw his interest.

So I smiled at Sela and shook my head and carried on with the truffle shavings. And thought the matter put to rest. But it wasn't. Because, despite all my reservations, I found my eyes drifting to Julian. Night after night. In all the quiet moments.

He was beautiful, really, with his dark and softly-curling locks of hair. With his eyes, as pale and warm as ice melting in the spring sun. And that title. _Sparathain_. To be, but still. He _should_ have been the sort of man I'd pursue. But all those women. No. I was done with that — I wouldn't be drawn in for simply an evening. I wouldn't have sex with him and walk away with nothing. Not anymore.

He wasn't for me.

* * *

"So your father doesn't support your writing either." Julian put down his wineglass and studied me over its rim, his pale eyes boring into mine. "But you are doing it anyway. That is commendable." There was respect in his voice. "Does he know you still study it?"

"No." I let out an amused breath and reached for the platter of chocolate between us, contemplating my choices for a long moment before glancing at him again. "He has no idea, of course. Or he'd stop paying for the university and send me straight back home."

"And where is home?" He was still looking at me, his eyes alight with curiosity.

"Kershain," I said, giving the answer I had prepared a long time ago. A city far enough away to be safe. Unquestioned. I hoped. "In Modeg. Do you know it?" I finally selected a desirable piece of chocolate and bit down on it. Hints of cocoa and berry burst in my mouth. An unexpected tang.

"I have visited. Wait… are you Modegan, Alana? You do not have the slightest accent. I wouldn't have—"

"Oh no, I'm not Modegan at all," I said quickly. "I was born in Severen, but we have lived in Kershain for a while. My father works in the courts there, for the High King. He'd like me to join him when I finish at the university, then marry me off to some high lord. I won't have it, though."

"You are brave." His voice was soft now, as if these words warranted more consideration than any others tonight. "Are you not afraid of what he will do if he finds out you're not studying mathematics at all?"

"A little." I met his eyes. "What of you? Are you not afraid of what life will become if you trade your wishes for those of your father?"

"A little," he echoed, and his eyes seemed to jump somewhere very far away. "It would be filthy rich. But… empty." He breathed out an empty laugh. "So I postpone it."

"By bedding every woman at The Guild?" I asked pointedly.

He gave me a curious glance.

"I will admit, your reputation precedes you, Julian."

"And what have you heard?"

I shrugged. "Oh, this and that. Mainly that you'll sleep with anything if it lies still long enough."

He burst out laughing, with feeling this time. "Now, that isn't true at all, my lady. First of all, I prefer if they didn't lie still at all…"

"Tehlu, that's crass," I said innocently. "What's a proper lady to think?"

"That she's incredibly lucky to find such an experienced suitor?" His amused gaze held mine.

"And who said you're experienced?"

"Of course, perhaps you are more experienced than me." He shot me a devious glance. "I have seen you on the arms of several gentleman as well. Could it be that you are postponing something yourself?"

"And what would I be postponing?"

"Responsibility?" He considered me. "A job in the courts? No, you would not… _Ah,_ marriage."

I offered him a wicked grin. "You're projecting again."

"Then what is it you're searching for?"

"Love." The word slipped out so effortlessly, I wasn't even sure whether I meant to say it. But I held his gaze, my own unblinking. Alana was all brazen confidence and heart. And I was wearing her mask like armour. I would not back down now.

He said nothing for a long moment, his eyes on mine. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "And if you find it… will you give up searching?"

"For what?" I breathed, though I knew perfectly well. He wasn't asking about my writing aspirations. The question lodged somewhere deep inside me, deeper than the scarred edges of where Alana ended and I began. For a moment, it was simply me sitting there. No mask, no armour. Just all my hurts trailing behind me and an uncertain future laid out ahead. I closed my eyes, and hoped there was love in it. And then I pulled the mask back on and blinked Julian's face into focus, and just like that the moment was gone.

"Will I settle on a man, you mean?" I added lightly, and I thanked Tehlu for my steady voice.

He nodded.

"Will _you_?"

"Settle on a man?" he repeated with a grin.

I rolled my eyes. "Get married and work with your father."

"I suppose. If a proper lady agrees to the arrangement." His eyes held mine."Though I have it on good authority that most proper ladies consider me quite the cad. Or at least their mothers do."

The blush that spread across my cheeks seemed only fitting for Alana. "Well, I am not most ladies."

* * *

Within another span, my courtship with Emrys had drawn to its mutual conclusion. It was a relief. I pawned the bracelet he had given me for three quarter bits and tucked the matching necklace safely among my things. The money was enough to bring my remiss account with Frames up to date and ensure I would not be kicked out of my tiny room.

A span later, I was seeing a young sculptor named Finnian. And after that, I spent several evenings with Stelan, a nobleman in the king's service. Neither relationship lasted very long, and perhaps that was because no matter what we got up to at The Guild, my eyes would inadvertently drift to the corner I had dubbed as Julian's. And I would watch him sitting there, writing, or drinking, or chatting to a woman which would undoubtedly leave on his arm later that evening.

Nothing good would come of it. He was useless to me. To my plans. To the semblance of a life I had carved out for myself at The Guild. I was looking for a courtship, and he was very nearly a whore. Not that he would ever be called such a word — he was a man, after all. The son of a sparathain.

But still, inadvertently, without my urging, my eyes sought him out.

By my eighth span at The Guild, I could no longer ignore my intrigue with Julian. It was as if we were alike in ways no two people had been alike before. I knew little of him. Only what I'd seen and heard, but still the outline of him in my mind was detailed with colors of my own design. Perhaps it was the writing — his real, and mine not. Or the way in which we both breathed through partners. The way his face shifted upon meeting each one. Just slightly. The curving of his lips. I was never close enough to really see his eyes, but even from far away they were as clear as mirror glass. The smile in their depths as filtered as the one I'd always known. And I knew what I wanted, at least on the outside. But why did _he_ reach for others as if they were as essential as air? As if the light of each would last for only an evening. Was it the darkness he was running from?

The questions swirled over me. Constantly. Endlessly. And when I picked up my notebook in those evenings, the scribbles that burned incessantly through my inkwells formed into words. _She lives in the broken patches._ They weren't good words. _The cobblestones splinter and give out, and on and on she walks._ It wasn't poetry. It wasn't anything, really. I was no writer, despite the spiderweb of lies Alana wove. I _n the shadows of the city she's once known. The darker shadows and the lighter shadows, but shadows still._ But they were true. Real. _She is shadow. Fading._

And I was.

And when my final courtship fell apart, I knew there was nothing for it. Even if it only lasted a night, it would still be half a loaf — enough to still the curious storm that swirled within me. Understanding him somehow seemed nearly as vital as understanding myself.

But still, if I could intrigue him enough to make it last longer… Time was a precious commodity. And with spring on the horizon, I didn't have endless amounts of it. Anilin loomed in the distance, a barely discernible dream; the journey still very much out of reach. I needed money. More than I could scrape together even with my courtships. My time with him needed to be longer. To be spent better.

I needed to _know_ him better. And more than that, I needed him to want me.

And so I watched. And I wrote. And I waited.

* * *

Our first dinner ended in a swirl of expectation. We left the restaurant, the chilly air greeting us as we stepped out onto the smooth cobblestones. It was colder than it had been earlier, and the night hung heavily. We walked aimlessly for a while, exchanging easy banter. His arm on my shoulders. His grip was firm, but I didn't mind.

When the air grew too frigid to carry on, Julian steered us carefully down familiar streets, until we found ourselves outside of Frames. I glanced up at its narrow facade before meeting Julian's eyes once again. He smiled.

"This is where I shall leave you, my lady." He stepped back, offering me the most ridiculous courtly bow. I looked on in amusement.

"Really?"

"Yes, at the gates of your palace, now that I have ensured your safe return."

"Palace?" I laughed. "Perhaps in Yll…"

"It's lovely, truly. Quaint."

"Yes, it's quite nice. The facade doesn't do it justice."

"I will have to take your word for it tonight."

"I'm shocked," I said with perfect honesty. "I would have thought you'd like to check out the firmness of the mattress. Or some such."

He smiled in that devious way I had come to appreciate. "I would not be opposed, I assure you. But another time. I have decided that I should like to learn what it is… to wait."

"Oh?" I felt something catch in my chest. _To wait…_ "When did you decide that?"

"Tonight." His eyes grew uncharacteristically serious. "My lady. _Alana_. I have met so many women—"

"I know," I cut in drily, unable to help myself.

He ignored me. "I have. And not one of them has intrigued me so much as you."

I said nothing. It was what I'd been hoping for all this time. And when he said the words, I felt them lodge in my chest, almost painfully. And the whole world around me seemed to shift. _Relief_. Just a bit of pride. I had done it, somehow. I had managed what none of the women he'd wanted had been able to do before. I felt the thrum of excitement well up within me, threatening to burst, and smiled.

"So perhaps the bed will have to wait until tomorrow night," he finished.

"It shall have to wait longer than that," I said with all of Alana's confidence. "I'm worth waiting for."

"I do believe you are."

And then he leaned forward and touched his lips to mine. Softly. Lightly. For only the space of a breath. A warmness in the cool night. And then he was gone, stepping back and turning away. His smile fading into darkness. His shape blending into the night. My lips still lingering with the warmth of his memory.

I stood outside Frames for a long time, alone in the darkness, wondering what in the four corners I had just done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't quite believe it, but we're 2/3 of the way through D's story! I hope you guys are enjoying this somewhat lighter turn of events, and thank you so, so much for reading and sticking with D! And thank you to whoever has faved, or followed, or reviewed. It means the world.


	21. A Better Man

Spring came and went, painting Renere with a spectrum of color. The days grew warmer and brighter, the sun stretching higher into the sky to breathe new life into the worn and weary roads. The city awoke from the cold winter, the streets bursting with life again. Laughter drifted from the open windows, their shutters thrown wide to tempt the shimmering sunlight. And all the while, Julian and I walked those roads together.

I saw him the next day, and the day after that. He seemed inclined to carve out as much time with me as possible, and I did not object. And the time we spent together was pleasant and light. And interesting. _Julian_ was interesting. We talked in circles around each other for endless hours, our words threading together in a pattern of dance. We strolled the city and explored everything on offer within its boundaries. We went skating in the last days of winter, and when grass broke through the frigid ground at last, we rode horses from the finest stable in all of Renere. We attended readings and plays and poetic exhibitions. He brought me presents — beautiful things that I handled with tremendous care, for I knew these necklaces and bracelets and earrings would pay in gold at any pawn shop.

I finally let him take me to bed a span and a half after our first evening together, which was far longer than I had waited with any other man to date. Though the bed we chose for the endeavour was his, not mine. I didn't mind. It was soft where mine was stiff. Endlessly large and dressed with pillows and fabrics of the finest silks and satins. My bed was plain. Narrow, with sharp edges and hard angles. With only room enough for one. I liked his far better. And the time was spent pleasantly enough, as these things go. In that moment, his skin against mine was warm, and that warmth seeped into me, too. Deep enough to lodge there and pulse within me. As if the burnt out fire within my soul still lived beneath the coals, and his touch was the wind that sent them stirring. I still remember his eyes in that moment, alight with the edges of something familiar that pulled me in. And the thought of giving myself to him didn't seem so hard. Or so horrible.

The truth of it was that I liked Julian. He was kind. He had an easy laugh that amused me in the light and pulled me out of shadows when the dark descended. He was bursting with endless inspiration, as if he simply pulled it from the world around him. Breathed it in from the air. It made me want to do more. To reach more. And he wasn't afraid to lay himself bare before me. He spoke of his troubles. His parents. Of the unbearable weight of an oppressive future, looming in the distance like an airless fog. But still, he was oddly free despite not being free at all. _Perfectly Julian_ for all that.

So spring bloomed into summer, and still we carried on. In the first span of Solace, I told him the _truth_ ; not the _whole_ truth, of course, but Alana's truth. Really, it was simply another lie — the one buried beneath the layer of lies he already knew. More specifically, it was the lie I'd shared with Gerald span ago.

"My father knows." It was evening, and we were walking through some of Renere's finer gardens. The air was thick with music, which drifted from the nearby outdoor stage. It played through the trees, carried to us on the light summer winds to filter through the rustling leaves above. I suspected it was what had inspired me to speak, and my voice held honest penance, and a small bit of regret.

Julian glanced at me, his warm eyes catching the fading light. "About us?"

 _Us_. I glanced away. Another lie, and one I wasn't prepared to confront. Not then. "What I'm really studying."

He let out a sharp breath. "Your poetry."

"Yes." It wasn't really a question, but I answered it anyway. His hand, held loosely around mine, tightened. It was warm. "He's known a while."

Julian said nothing. I stopped beneath the canopy of a large oak and turned to him. There was concern reflected in his eyes. "Is he angry?"

"Very."

"Will he bring you home?"

I shook my head. "I refused."

"You did." His eyes widened. "We spoke of it, but I was not sure if you…"

"If I were serious?" I breathed out a tiny laugh before meeting his eyes. It sounded appropriately bitter. And truthfully, it was. The web of lies I'd woven about me was so thick that sometimes it felt like drowning. "The truth is I _haven't_ been entirely honest. It happened far before we ever met."

He contemplated me for what felt like a terribly long time. "And he has continued to support you?"

"No." I held his gaze. "He hasn't"

"But how have you…" He paused, eyeing me. " _Have you taken up bank robbery, my lady?_ "

I laughed, its lightness etching away at the hard knot in my chest, before admitting the truth. "You were right about The Guild. I _do_ get in for free. I've been working there in the mornings. To cover my membership. And they pay me a bit besides. "

"All this time?"

I nodded.

He brought a hand to my cheek, trailing his fingers gently against my skin. His voice serious now. "Why? Surely you know, I would—"

"I know," I confirmed. "I'm embarrassed. It's been months, you see. And I'm not sure… even if I come home now, I'm not sure he'd… want me to stay." I felt the words catch in my throat and I glanced away, my eyes stinging with their truth. _Even if he were still alive, would Father even…_ This city felt different without them in it. Colder and harder. The Renere I'd once known was gone. And I wasn't that little girl anymore. I pushed the thoughts forcefully away, though they still clung to my words, infusing them with feeling. "I'm not such a lady anymore. And you… you're—"

"I don't care." He lowered his arm, taking my hands in his instead. He held them for a long moment. "It doesn't matter if your father disowns you. It is his loss. You are so beautiful, and smart, and braver than all the world. This is nonsense. _You are still a lady_ , Alana. And even if you weren't, it doesn't matter."

"Doesn't it?" I said softly.

"Not to me. I have rank enough for us both. And if I _must_ be a politician, then at least _you_ should be a poet." He offered me a bold smile. It was unwaveringly confident. Like the one he'd worn the night we first met, though now I knew the man beneath.

A _good_ man.

We spent the remainder of that evening together, and the following morning I said goodbye to Frames. Julian put me up in the finest inn in Central, The Golden Mark. There was no reason, he insisted, for me to waste my time working at The Guild to scrape a living when he could easily afford the cost of my membership. No reason to spend my precious coins on room and board. The owner of the Mark was a family friend. It would be no bother to put me up there. No bother at all. And it was so much closer to his own rooms, which took up an entire floor of the nearby building — an architectural marvel with floor length windows made of perfect glass.

He'd first suggested I simply join him in his lodgings, but I insisted I needed my space. It was _much too soon_. Absolutely improper. What would his parents think? In truth, the thought sent me into a near panic; all my lies tangling together in my mindscape until they formed a suffocating web that threatened to drag me down. I hid the fear well enough, though he must have seen at least a glimpse of it in my eyes; for in this respect, at least, he didn't push. And I conceded to his other offers quickly enough. In the end, they were exactly the things I'd been hoping for all along. And there was no reason to refuse them.

My new rooms were spacious. There was a bedroom with a wide canopy bed, laid with a luxuriously soft mattress. It was decorated with more pillows than I could imagine functions for, wrapped in satins, silks, and velvets. The wardrobe was hung with colorful dresses when I arrived, the fabrics richer than anything May had given me. There was a sitting room, set with lounging sofas and small tables. There was something Julian delightfully called a "Writing Nook" — a small enclave off the sitting room where a dark wooden desk sat in a corner beside a stuffed bookshelf. A narrow window bathed its polished surface in gentle sunlight. And a balcony in the sitting room overlooked the flowering gardens below. If I leaned out and looked to the right, through all the trees and flower tunnels between, I could just see one of Julian's windows. When the light was clear and hit it just right, I could even see a trace of the room inside — a room I knew intimately, for I had seen it often in the night.

We stopped by The Guild that evening, where I apologetically told Gerald the news while Julian handed over a royal with an easy smile.

"We will miss you, Lady Alana." Gerald spoke pleasantly enough, though his eyes seemed to probe deeper than I would have liked. I offered him a smile, which he returned; the arching of his lips as brittle as my own.

"Do not worry," Julian laughed, looping an arm around my waist, "you will see her plenty still. Just not in your kitchens."

"That is good. As is befitting her station," Gerald agreed, his voice even. His eyes still probed mine. But there was nothing I could say. I had walked in deep. _Too deep._ And there was only one clear path forward now; the one where Julian stood, his hand reaching out to beckon me along. So I kept walking, even as the lies grew thick as trees between us. The forest stretching on. Until the light filtered and dimmed. Until everything but the life I'd meticulously crafted was lost to the shade.

Even Denna.

Oh, there were so many times I wished I could tell him everything. There were times I even thought, perhaps… perhaps it wouldn't matter to him. _Perhaps…_ But there was too much of it. It was too heavy. How could I possibly say it? The things I'd done weren't forgivable.

So I did my best to bury them in the heart of the girl I'd been before I became Alana. Otherwise, I worried I wouldn't find the strength to keep walking. To keep doing _this_. So the most I ever told him of a real piece of myself was the music. My love for it. How beautiful I found it when the harmony of song and instrument twined together. It was art, breathing and living. He brought me to a music hall the next evening, where Sir Stellan Antal was singing _The Lay of Sir Savien Traliard_ , his wrenching tenor fading only after reaching the far edges of the hall.

I cried for a long while after that, my tears thicker and heavier than even the song had ever asked for. I don't reckon Julian really understood the depth of them. But he was there. And he was there in my darker moments, when the memories I tried to bury inevitably surfaced, and it all became too overwhelmingly hard to bear. But they didn't surface often, and most of our time was filled with pleasant afternoons and more pleasant evenings. With days that flowed easily from one to the next, and a summer that stretched on and on. I let it carry me, to push me along the ebbing and waning currents, as if time didn't matter. As if summer were an endless, perfect season, and Reaping would never come.

* * *

It was a particularly fine evening. Julian and I had been to see a performance of _The Tenpenny King_ in the gardens, presented on the outdoor stage by Renere's royal troupe. They were under the patronage of King Roderic Calanthis himself, so the standard of quality was high and the cost proportionally so. Tonight was no exception, and entry and drinks had cost Julian well over a noble. An incredible sum of money, though it hardly made a dent in his purse and he kept us well plied with wine for the duration. It was a small mercy. The play was much sharper than my memories of it.

We were properly nearly drunk when it was over. Julian suggested a walk through the park before dinner and we set off into the fading light, rehashing the finer points of the performance.

"Inspiring," Julian called it.

"Too simple," I replied, the wine taking the edge off my bitter anger. "Every problem was solved immediately. There was hardly any struggle."

"He struggled," Julian protested, enjoying the debate."Ten pennies is hardly enough for a meal. When he lost his bread, I felt it here." He touched his chest for emphasis. "Come, I saw you tear up."

"It was sad," I concedeed. I _had_ been sad. But it had little to do with the plight of the king. No, it was my own memories that had surfaced, tugging at the edges of my eyes. Haunting me. "He was never truly in danger of starving."

"All right. Then what of Bryn? You cannot say she did not struggle. And through it all, she shone bright as a candle flame in the eternal night. Could he have found a worthier queen than one so connected with the common populace?"

"No… but for a hundred girls like her, ninety-nine won't be so lucky. They'll meet no magic tinker or king in disguise. They'll live in poverty. _Die_ in poverty _._ "

"But even so," he pressed, not noticing the way my voice shook and my words faded, "such love stories _do_ exist. Look at us! Of course, we are not comparable. I am no secret king, and you are a lady, Alana, but…"

I said nothing, my words turning to silence. _A lady_. I had read the play before, a long time ago, with Denna. The concept of a young king abandoning his stately castle and masquerading as a pauper to fall for a common girl had intrigued me then. The excitement. The mystery and adventure! All that pretending. For Denna, it had always been the love story that drew her in. Love first, then riches after. A happy ending.

She had always loved faerie tales…

"But in truth, it would be fine to be such a king," Julian said, and the image of Denna's face abruptly fell away, sinking back into the deeper reaches of my mind. His arm rested loosely around my waist. "Do you know, sometimes I wish I could do this. Dress in rags and pretend I am someone else."

I stopped, turning to look at him. "Do you?"

"Of course." He paused as well, meeting my gaze, and we stood together beneath the canopy of rustling late-summer leaves. I could see the wild spark of excitement dancing in his eyes, drawing out the blue in the fading light. "Can you imagine the freedom? Walking through the shadows of the city where not a single person knows your face or name, rescuing fair maidens..." He let out an easy laugh, the sound trailing into the soft wind. "It would be like living and breathing inspiration. Think of all the poetry we could write. The stories. _The plays!_ "

Freedom.

A shiver crawled up my arms, cutting through the warmth of the evening and the pleasant buzz of the alcohol. When I spoke, my words felt too sharp to wield. "It's easy to live freely like that if you're a king. If you have a palace full of jewels and gold to come back to whenever you like…" I stopped, my words trailing to nothing. If he only knew, what that freedom cost. _How much it cut._

He smiled, his eyes still on me. Something brushed lightly against my hair, startling me, and he reached out and plucked a yellowing leaf from my elaborate curls. He let it fall, and for a moment we both watched it tumble.

"You are right, of course." He smiled, his tone perfectly conciliatory. "Moreover, I am much too enamoured with you to rescue another fair maiden. A king needs only one queen." He pulled me close, rubbing a hand along my arm. His interest in the discussion fading. "Are you cold? You are shivering. Let us go to dinner."

And he pulled me along the path again, until we reached the edge of the park, where Julian flagged down a two-horse carriage that drove us to a restaurant as fine as any we had frequented in the last few months. The sort a true tenpenny king could never afford.

Dinner was lovely.

I smiled through seven courses. It was easy enough to slip into my mask; to keep pretending. Especially when the serving girls put so much food before us that there wasn't room enough to dwell on our conversation. _The fucking Tenpenny King_. It didn't really matter how Julian saw it. He wasn't plagued with memories of Denna, who had given her _life_ for the hope of living out just such a story. He never would be. He had never been properly hungry, or cold, or knew what it felt like to have nothing but ten pennies to his name. And if Tehlu kept smiling upon him, he never would.

Truthfully, I _hoped_ he'd never know. And it didn't matter. It wasn't why we were together — whatever _together_ meant. It wasn't why I sat across from him now, helping myself to more food than I could stomach. If anything, it was the food, not the company. And the hoard of jewelry safe in my room a mile away — the sense of security I wrapped around myself like a rich eiderdown. Julian… was extra. But I enjoyed his company. With him it was far more than half a loaf.

So it was easy enough to smile and laugh as we worked our way through our most elegant meal in several span. By then I had done it so often that it was just another part of me. Pretending. Julian laughed louder and brighter with every course, and so did I. I was the perfect mirror image he craved. The female version of him with just enough imperfections. Enough weaknesses. And beautiful for all that. I had taken such pains to frame my face with paints. To arrange my lengthening hair into artful topknots. An image of perfection every day. It was only what he expected of me — what I had promised, by unspoken agreement.

Still, the dinner was finer than the occasion warranted, and I should have found it odd. I may have, had I left room for contemplation. But I had chosen to eat and drink and laugh, and to not contemplate anything at all.

* * *

He pushed me against the wall of the corridor leading to my rooms at the Mark and kissed me. The kiss was rough. Passionate. We were six feet from the door, but I wrapped my arms around him, letting his tongue push against mine. It was the sort of day which promised to stretch into the night. I would wake up next morning with Julian beside me. I was only surprised that we were at my rooms and not at his. As lovely as mine were, his were infinitely more so. But Julian had led me here.

"Let's go inside," I breathed finally, after he freed my lips to draw air.

"Just another moment," he murmured, cupping my face in his palms. He kissed me again, his lips burning against mine. Urgently. As if I would run off the second he let go.

"Why?" I managed. "Are you feeling adventurous enough to have a romp in the corridor?"

He burst into laughter, letting go of my face. "Only if that is what the lady wishes."

"It _would_ be different," I mused. "The lady will consider. But maybe another time."

"I shall hold you to it. Come, then."

He took my hand, pulling me along the rest of the way. He paused at the door, turning to me. I knew he certainly had a key to the room, but he never used it — a trait I appreciated. I reached into my dress pockets, searching for the cool metal shape of it.

"Alana," Julian said softly. "I…"

I found the key and brought it to the lock. Julian trailed off into silence. I turned to glance at him.

"What is it?"

He opened his mouth and closed it again, as if unsure of his words. That surprised me. Julian was _never_ unsure of his words. He had too many words, really. A lot of them superfluous in that way that tongues of noblemen could be, though he meant well enough. But the supply never ran dry. I wondered if he had finally managed to drink his limit, though it hadn't seemed like quite that much alcohol.

"Alana," he began again. "There is something… something I need to say."

But he didn't say it. He simply looked at me, his eyes holding mine. Something unspoken simmering below the surface. A sudden unease lanced through my chest. Was he bored of me, then? Was he moving on? The kiss — a final suspended moment before he shattered the pool of our reality?

It was fine. _Fine_. I'd prepared well-enough. I could be gone tomorrow.

Why did the thought leave me cold?

"Let's go inside," I said, when he remained silent.

He nodded, and I turned the key the rest of the way. _This was it_. There was a click — the gears sliding together in perfect rhythm. _I liked him well enough. It would be sad to go_. The door creaked slightly as I pushed against the polished wood, the doorknob cool in my hands. _But he wasn't anything to me. Not_ _really_. I stepped inside the room.

The first thing I saw was red. Red everywhere.

It was spread across the floor. It dotted the lounging sofa, the side tables and chairs. Like drops of blood, spattered. It was dancing in shadows across the walls. Burning across my vision.

Freezing my chest.

"Alana," Julian said from behind me. His voice firm and confident again, all the trembling of before forgotten, and yet it was so far away, as if there was a moon between his brightness and my falling night.

"I love you. _I am in love with you._ "

And I realized they were roses. Endless roses everywhere. Standing in vases on side tables. Draped across the sofa. Scattered across the floor in a sea of petals.

Rose petals filling my lungs. Until I couldn't breathe.

His hand was on my shoulder. Squeezing. Pulling. I turned. I can't remember making the motion. But suddenly the roses were gone. It was only him — only Julian. Framed in the bright glow of the corridor, his face half in shadow. In his hand something glittered.

"Marry me."

He grasped my hands in his, sliding the ring delicately on my finger as I stared at him in shocked silence.

"Marry me," he repeated. "You _are_ my queen, Alana. You are everything. You make me yearn for an honest life."

My lips felt dry as parchment. I drew in a tiny breath, but it did nothing to dispel the tightness in my chest. And my silence seemed to only motivate him to speak, his words bursting forth as if they couldn't be contained.

"I never thought I would settle down. _Never_. But with you…" He grasped both of my hands in his, stepping toward me. Behind him, the door swung softly shut, until there was nothing but him and me. Candles and roses. The glittering ring on my finger, sparkling in the light.

"You have it," he whispered now, softly, his lips inches from my own. "The spark I have been searching for. _Marry me, Alana_. Anything you desire — I will give you _everything_. This world will be ours."

I couldn't seem to speak. Within me, my heart had frozen. I closed my eyes, searching for the tiniest space where my thoughts could form. Rearrange. But all I saw in the darkness were the roses. Imprinted on my eyelids. Roses everywhere. Roses in the distance, over _his_ shoulder. The vase shattering. Red everywhere. Derren's blood on my hands.

Denna's blood.

Everything was red.

I drew in a gasping breath, the air stabbing at my ribs, and my eyes snapped open. Julian's face was inches from mine, a tiny frown pulling at the corners of his lips.

"Alana, what is wrong?" he breathed.

I weakly shook my head. The ring, slightly too loose, twisted sideways on my finger.

"Just shock?" he murmured through a laugh. "I apologize. Truly. I wished to surprise you."

"I…" I began. But I couldn't speak. My mind was blank. And my vision swam with memory. He couldn't have known.

"What do you say?" His hands were holding mine again. "Is it yes? Will you be my lady wife?"

Tehlu, he loved me. I could forget Anilin. Everything. I could marry him. Stay in this city forever… _In this city, where Denna had given her life searching for a love story just like this._ My hands trembled in his, and I pulled them away.

"N-no," I whispered. It was barely a sound. I shook my head again, more firmly.

He frowned. "No?"

"I— I can't."

I turned away, staring at the room he had taken such pains to decorate. How had he done it? He must have arranged it with the staff. My eyes flitted between the candles, burning low in their elaborate holders. The room had been set for hours, just waiting for us to return.

"You can't?" His voice cracked. For the first time since I had known him, I heard the vulnerability he carried seep into his words. "But..."

"I can't," I repeated weakly. Tehlu, Denna had loved him. Trent. And it still wasn't enough.

"Why?" I felt him draw in a breath behind me, felt his body shake, though there was six inches of air between us.

It broke me a little. My hands clenched into fists, the unfamiliar shape of the ring digging painfully into my palm. _Tehlu, what had I done?_

He was a good man.

And I didn't love him.

"All right," he said behind me, his voice growing stronger. He grasped at my shoulder, and I felt the warmth of his hand against my skin. "It _is_ too soon, isn't it? I am sorry. We don't have to marry. Not for years, if you wish it. Forget I asked. It is the wine. I got carried away."

I said nothing. The wine? Was it the wine that had transformed my rooms into a flowering field? Was that what this ring was made of? Wine? Did he take me for a fool? No. I was his lady of rescue. His own personal Bryn. He had all but swept me off the streets. And now he was collecting his due. His own living love story.

He stepped around me, until he was facing me again. His lips curved in the tiniest smile. "Truly, forget marriage. It will be as it was."

It would _never_ be as it was.

"For as long as you need," he said softly. "Until you are ready."

I couldn't do this anymore. I had been taking and taking. For _months_. And now he was asking for more than I could give. The rose room around me shimmered, the shadows stretching along the walls until they faded into memory. I was in May's basement again, lying upon the tiny narrow bed. Her weathered face watching over me.

" _And if my heart isn't there to give?"_

I had asked her that. So easily. As if I knew the turings of my heart and how they'd grow with time. Now, with Julian beside me and the ring so heavy on my hand, I couldn't imagine how I had asked such a question. I couldn't have known what it would mean. Back then, it hadn't weighed so much.

" _Then you leave. And take them for all they're worth. And you go."_

I had done the one thing May had told me not to do. Overstayed my welcome.

"I can't see you anymore." The words bore a quiet sort of sharpness, slicing through us both as they slipped into the air between us. Leaving only silence.

"No," he said finally. His hand reached for mine, brushing lightly against my skin before I pulled away. "Alana, why are you… no…"

"I'm not good for you," I managed. "I'm not—"

"You are perfect." His head was shaking in refusal. Back and forth. "You are everything I want. The only thing."

"You don't want me," I said firmly. "You—"

"I do," he insisted, his arms reaching round my waist. Pulling me against him. "I promise you, I—"

" _You_ _don't!_ " The words tore my throat as I hurled them into the candlelit room. I pushed away from him, his ashen face burning into my eyes as I turned away again. "You don't." I repeated the words. More softly. "I'm not who you think I am."

"Of course you are," he said firmly. "You are _Alana_. My lady."

"You don't know the half of it."

"What else matters?" His voice rose, strengthened by his assurance. "Everything else is scrapped parchment and dried up ink."

I felt my body tremble, and I wrapped my arms across my chest, as if my hands could hold me together. "I'm not your Bryn."

"I didn't ask you to be…" His hand brushed my back. "Is this about the play? I didn't mean… _Alana, please._ You told me when we met that you were looking for love. Don't you remember?"

I did. _I did._ I felt my eyes sting and said nothing.

"Is it your parents after all? Your father? We can go to Kershain. I will put myself at his mercy. For you, I would—"

"Stop," I whispered, and he froze, his words falling to silence. I felt my heart thud painfully against my chest. It was done. I had to say it. "I don't…"

_Love you._

But I couldn't. I couldn't hurt him any more. I had never… never meant for it to go so far. And now the seconds were ticking away, and still I stood, frozen.

In the silence, Julian dropped his hand.

"Go," I whispered finally. "Please. Just go."

"Alana…"

"Please, Julian." My voice cracked slightly over the shape of his name. "I don't want this anymore. Not marriage. Not the future you envision. None of it. Not ever." My hands shook, and I squeezed them firmly into fists. "Please, go."

He didn't say another word, but I heard his footsteps, muffled against the soft rug, fading away. Until they were buried beneath the thud of the door. Quiet in its finality.

And then there was silence.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, though only the rose room remained to hear. "I'm so sorry."

_Tehlu, I'm so, so sorry._

My tears fell thick and hard, and didn't stop until the candles burned low enough to fade. And the shadows fell to darkness.


	22. The Pieces of Her

I fled that night.

It's a dramatic word. I could say, simply, that I left. That I abandoned my attempts with Julian and chose to carve out my own piece of the four corners elsewhere. That it was long past time to go, and I was only following the plan I had once laid out for myself. But in truth, I was running away.

It didn't take long. The bones of my plan had been in place for months. Perhaps longer. I took as much as I could carry. My nicer dresses. The small gifts Julian had given me. My Guild pin. Calia's comb. I stuffed them all into a travelsack I had bought months ago for just such an occasion. I made quick work of it. The longest part was the time it took for my tears to finally stop. When my face was washed and dry, and my hair perfectly styled, I slipped into my plainest road clothes, covered myself in the old, familiar cloak, and strapped the knife I'd never really let go off to my thigh. Then I slipped out into the lightening dawn with everything I owned of value.

Most everything. I left Julian's ring.

I made my way to the Imperial Plaza, which Julian and I had strolled across just three days past, arm and arm. It wasn't difficult to find a caravan. I smiled and flashed my coin and presented Calia's papers, and caught a ride with a small group of traveling performers just as the sun was beginning to rise. I watched its soft rays lighten the cobblestones around the wagon as we rolled slowly through the quiet streets of a mostly sleeping city. The walls loomed, dark grey masses that blocked out the newfound sun and cloaked us in shadow.

As we drew nearer, I thought of everything I was leaving behind. Charrel and Hana, who had offered me a safe place to rest my head, and their company. May, who had shown me more kindness than I had ever deserved. Sela, who had always made me smile. An unexpected light, though I hadn't seen her in weeks. Gerald; all dignified and proper, and yet full of heart. It hurt that I would never say goodbye. And then there were the men. Countless, and yet all a part of my story. I had no regrets about leaving any of them. Except him. Julian. But I couldn't think of that. It was too painful.

Why did it hurt to say goodbye?

I squeezed my eyes shut as the gate loomed overhead. A pause. A short discussion with the guards. Some banter exchanged. A check that was more of a formality. The impatient neighing of horses.

And we were through. I looked back at the gate as it receded into the distance. I was saying goodbye to them, too. They all lay within those walls, buried beneath that tear-soaked ground. Grandmother and Grandfather. Father. Mother. Denna. Unconsciously, my fingers reached for Mother's ring, and I twisted it upon my finger, until the stone dug into my hand.

We would never walk the same ground again. I felt the tears gather at the edges of my eyes, and after a few fruitless attempts to rein them in, I let them roll silently down my cheeks. I told myself I was crying for them. For Denna. For the life I should have had. And not for Julian.

I wouldn't cry for Julian. I didn't love Julian. I _didn't._ And I was leaving, because it was right. Because I couldn't play with his feelings any longer. I had family to find in Anilin, and that had been my plan all along. There was no reason to cry. In the end, I was no duchess. No matter what I dressed myself in, or what names I hid behind, I was a whore, and that was unchangeable. Alana… didn't exist. And the world was not a faery story. If he knew that truth, the love he held would shatter just as easily as glass. So it was time to go. _It was time._

No, it wasn't a mistake.

* * *

The troupers took me as far west as Deepen Falls, and from there I paid for passage on a ship that traveled down the Arrand River to Junpui before turning along the coast to Tarbean in the Commonwealth. It was a sprawling, bustling city, cloaked in a foreignness that made me feel somehow safe.

I spent three nights there entertaining a Modegan gentleman who didn't remind me of Julian in the slightest. That was all right. I had spent the long and painful journey across the Centhe Sea laying awake for hours each night as the ship rocked around me, trying not to think of him. And yet I saw him everywhere. In the faces of others around me. In the darkness when I closed my eyes. In the lonely black of night, when my body yearned for the feel of his arms around me. And memory was all that remained. Somehow, despite all my best efforts, I had given him too much of myself. And I promised myself then that I would never let it happen again. I would never again let down my guard — let anyone reach as far as my heart.

There would never be another Julian.

It was better that way. Simpler. So I spent three evenings with a man whose name I don't even care to recall. I met him in the music house on my first night in Tarbean. He bought me dinner and insisted on paying for my rooms at a boarding house in Hillside — the nicer part of the city. On the fourth day, we met for breakfast. He gave me a fine sapphire necklace and suggested I wear it that evening, for what he promised would be a night of fine revelry and high romance. Sixth bell. That's when he expected to collect me from "my rooms."

I left at second bell. In the absence of love, I wouldn't sell myself so cheaply. Not anymore.

I stopped only long enough to pawn the necklace before securing a ride as far north as a small town called Imre. The ride took most of two days and was uneventfully quiet. The coach arrived in the late evening. It was Felling night, and Imre's narrow cobblestone streets were lively as I walked along in search of a room. Music drifted through the crisp air that tasted of fall, filling it with melody. I breathed it in, the night's din settling deep into my bones. Denna would have loved it. These small and bustling streets and colorful, well trimmed facades. In that moment, as I wandered through Imre's picturesque alleys, she felt almost close enough to touch.

I was never really sure how I ended up in the Eolian. Perhaps the faint traces of music spilling out into its cobblestone courtyard drew me in, though I didn't learn of its reputation until later. I stopped to chat with the doorman, a towering specimen of a man with soft blonde hair and muscles visible clearly even through the fabric of his shirt. He took my jot for entry despite his smile, but found me later as I sat at the polished mahogany bar on the first level, reeling from a heart-wrenching rendition of _Violet Bide_ that had reminded me of both Julian and my childhood in the most painful ways.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked, and introduced himself as Deoch.

"Dyanae," I said softly, and sensed Denna smile beside me as I wrapped myself in another layer of her name. I felt a tinge of warmth. It had been such a long time since I'd let her walk beside me, and now even the thought of her filled me with a brazen courage.

I spent the evening with him. And the next day. We talked and laughed for hours, sharing a massive tankard of something called metheglin, which tasted like warmth and Mother's spice garden. I learned that he was part-owner of the Eolian — the finest music house for miles — but liked to mind the door for he loved meeting honest folk. And he learned a secret of my own — one I had kept so close it weighed down my heart like stone.

With over a hundred miles between me and Vintas, I finally felt safe enough for my words to flow to song as we strolled through Imre's public gardens on my second night in the city. It was only _Tinker Tanner,_ and my voice was rustier than a broken nail; but Deoch laughed in delight all the same, and my face slipped into the first real smile I'd known for span.

I would have stayed longer, but Deoch was fun and talkative and polite, and I was enjoying his company far more than I should have. I couldn't risk that. I had promised myself; there would be no more Julians. So I left. With no goodbyes or explanations. I bought a seat on a barge up to Marrow, a small town about twenty miles upriver. From there, I planned to hop on a coach or caravan heading northeast to Anilin, but my plans were derailed when an unseasonably cold spell cut through the town, coating the narrow streets with snow overnight. I woke up shivering when the early sunlight crept into my room and glanced out at a white blanket of unbroken snow spread out before me. It glistened with a deadly beauty that chilled me to my bones. It was not yet Fallow — still far too soon for snow.

For a few days, I deigned to wait it out, but my heart wasn't in it. Anilin was still miles and miles away, and the journey wept of winter. I wasn't foolish enough to travel north as snows swept down to coat the roads beneath my feet. My poor lungs already strained painfully as I drew in the frigid air, and while Anilin was still my dream, there was no promise of a warm reception. It was a void. Unknown. And it had been a long time since I'd expected anything.

So when the snows melted, I returned to Imre.

I spent several span there, wandering between the Taps, and Goat in the Door, and other fine establishments, but I eventually ended up back at the Eolian. It was, simply put, the best. And its pull was undeniable. Deoch wasn't at the door when I slipped inside, but I spotted him from across the room as I made my way to the bar. He caught my eye, giving me a rather hard look before conceding a smile.

"You came back," he said later, appearing at my shoulder. "I didn't think you would."

"I didn't think I would either," I admitted, before adding: "I'm sorry."

"Ah, s'no matter." He wiped his hands on his apron and leaned against the bar beside me. "It's not the first time a beautiful girl's run off on me."

I smiled. "Got a long list, have you?"

"Of the ones who couldn't stay away? Endless."

"Am I on it?"

"Of course," he said easily.

"Can I see?"

He tapped his temple and smiled. "My eyes only."

"I see." My lips quirked in amusement. "But I'm afraid I don't qualify," I added seriously. "I'm just here for the music. And the metheglin."

I raised my cup and took a sip. He wrinkled his nose at the contents and laughed. "I _do_ own this place, you know."

"Just half."

He raised his eyebrows at me.

"Fine," I conceded. "It's only wine. But it's the good kind. Strawberry."

"Avennish wine's a fine drink, but metheglin is the beverage of the soul. Can I stand you a round?"

I shook my head, smiling. "Strawberry wine is fine enough for the likes of me, I'm afraid. At least tonight."

"And tomorrow?"

"Perhaps not tomorrow either," I admitted. "But I'm sure there will be wine and beer aplenty. Maybe even scutten and brand."

He nodded. "I hope you find what you're looking for, Dyanae."

"How do you know I haven't?" I asked curiously.

He offered me a smile. "There isn't scutten enough in all the world to burn through all your fire. Nor brand. Nor beer. But metheglin… I reckon that can burn hot enough." He laid a hand briefly on my shoulder then pushed away from the bar, leaving me perfectly alone. As if he had never been. When a gentleman approached me later that evening and invited me to share a table on the third tier, Deoch caught my eye again. It held only the ghost of a smile, and nothing more. But the smile was kind.

I spent the next several span in Imre and Tarbean both, splitting my time almost equally between them. I loved Imre for its picturesque streets and facades. For its propensity for the arts. For the music, which infused the air in equal part with the growing winter chill. And I loved Tarbean for its vastness. For the endless possibilities and anonymity it allowed me. For how easy it was to leave, to start again. In those months, I learned to live a life of self-reliance. To disappear quick and quiet in the night, my bill unpaid half as often as not. To weave courtships out of chance, as if I were a passing storm, dancing in the wind. So strong in the night that I could knock the very breath from a man. And gone by morning, as if I had never been. And if the sudden storm had left behind some broken pieces of what had once been whole, then what was that to me? They would fade with memory, in the resounding calm that followed. I had to keep walking. Looking forward. And if that was the cost that I should live, then Tehlu forgive me. I had done worse things before.

In Dearth, when the roads grew rutted and precarious and the air became too chill to easily breathe, I ceased my traveling and chose Tarbean as my home for the winter. It was a good place for it. The mid-winter pageantry was festive and all-consuming, and wondrous to behold. At least in Hillside. I heard that down in Waterside the pageantry was wicked and wild, and stepping into those filth-filled streets was perilous. But I didn't venture down to Waterside — I had lived my own version of it in Renere. And I would never go back.

When winter hit its coldest peak, my tattered lungs confined me to my bed for a solid span despite all my precautions. I kept enough wits about me to pick that bed within one of the finer inns, among soft sheets and blankets filled with eiderdown. But the comforts, warm food, and medicine cost me dearly. When I finally dragged myself out of my cocoon of warmth toward the end of Thaw, my meager savings were dwindling.

It cut deeper than it should have. I had spent _months_ with Julian. Span flitting from man to man. From pawn shop to pawn shop — all of it meant to carve out a semblance of a life. But there was nothing to fall back on. _Nothing_. And one moment of weakness was enough to threaten everything I had built. It was nearly enough to weep. To wonder how I could possibly keep going.

But how could I stop? There was nothing else before me.

I threw myself back into the world with a desperate fervor, seeking out more suitors. Leaving them behind me in the dark night hours when the bonds between us threatened to grow too deep. I was Diana. Donna. Denyea _. All pieces of her._ I clutched the names to my chest like lifelines each time I introduced myself to another willing suitor. Each time I crept away beneath night's shadowy mantle. I didn't cry — there was no use in it. But every time I walked the sleeping streets like an endless wanderer beneath the ever-glowing moon, I felt it in my chest. That painful, burning emptiness. Like I was a leaf, being pulled to and fro by the wind. And I had lost control of the direction. I was too empty for that. And nothing I could call my own weighed nearly enough to hold me down.

Would there ever be anything more?

It was only when the moon turned away from the world, leaving the sky black as pitch as winter began withdrawing its claws at last, that I once again saw my map of stars flaring across the sky. It was time.

And it filled me with a terrified, anxious excitement. I had long overstayed my welcome in the Commonwealth. And yes, it had been winter. Yes, I'd had a million reasons not to go. But in truth, I think the biggest one was fear. And the excuses came far too easily. The questions still plagued me. Could I really make it there? And if I did, would I find what I was searching for? The prospect left me trembling. But I _had_ to try. I had promised May. Had promised _myself_. Even if I couldn't imagine how it would end, or I didn't know, _really_ , where I was going, I couldn't stay here any longer. Spring was here, its early warmth melting away the late winter snows. And the road before me was clear.

It was time to go to Anilin.


	23. Into the Stars

The world… trembles. In the black that surrounds me, there is a resounding roar. And the darkness itself seems to shift and shudder, like crashing shadows against a stormy shore. Something pulls at me, digging into my arms like claws and threatening to tear me from the dark.

"Denna!"

Is it Denna again? Why is she always with me in all my darkest moments. Every time I try to leave her behind, she walks beside me still.

"...have to get up…"

The darkness is swirling, like a ship beneath storm waters. And while the words make sense in some distant corner of my mind, I don't know where up is.

I can't…

I…

And then the world explodes in light. As if my eyes have been forced open to stare directly into the sun. It burns. I twist away, but my body is leaden. Barely moving. As if they are all holding me down. Franklin. Arlen. The man with the heavy paunch and three-day-old beard that feels as rough against my cheek as his grip.

And him. _Derren_.

I push at the air, pulling at myself.

"Fuck off," I mumble, the words tearing from my throat to wither on my leaden lips. "Don't touch me. Get away from me. Fucking whoremonger." _Get away… Sod off. Sod off_. "Sod off!" I can't make out my own words, though my heart is trembling with their fury.

The sun flares out of existence, and the darkness is complete again. Darker and deeper than before. And my heart is crying in the void, the tears painfully cold. Like ice melting.

And then there is warmth again. Not sunlight this time. It doesn't cut into my shadowy realm. It's just a little — just a trace, really. But it hugs me, wrapping me like a blanket. Like the warmth of an embrace. And the shadows shift. I'm home, in the room I shared with Denna. I'm trembling, and Mother is tucking me into bed. I'm sick again, the frigid chains of winter leaving me cold and breathless. But the blanket is soft and smells of lavender, and Mother's hand on mine is warm.

"Mother," I mumble, my tongue struggling over the shape of her name. _Mother…_

"Denna!" The voice rings clear, pulsing with anxiety. _It's not Mother._ But it's familiar. Warm. It burns through the darkness, like a hearthfire blazing. And even as it fades, I see his face flicker before me.

_Kvothe._

I'm fading again. Falling back into the memories that hold me. They won't let go, not until they're through. But it's all right, because the story shifts now. _Everything_ changes. It was that spring, when I found the courage to go to Anilin at last. That perfect city, full of straight lines and sharp edges and designed greens. Not a stone out of order. It was _never_ what I was looking for. There was nothing pleasant there, despite the manicured streets and flawless facades that whispered of order. But it was nothing unexpected either. Perhaps that was even the reason I'd held off so long. I already knew what came of hope. But it mattered little, for I'd already found what I was searching for — at least a small piece of it, before I ever stepped foot in that city.

Oh, Kvothe.

He was fire. And sunlight. And wind, too. And scared as I was to reach out and touch my hand to the flames, I couldn't resist the draw. Not then, or later, or now. The heat I sought was worth the singe marks. And now it's enough to lull me back behind the doors of sleep. The warmth of his touch — I know it will keep me safe until the denner leaves me and the memories fade. And then, yes, I will tell him. Everything. About Denna and Mother and Father. And Derren. And even Mr. Ash, for what are my promises to him now in the face of his betrayal? How can he bind me when he is nothing but air and empty wind. Kvothe is the only one I can trust. The only one who's been there. Endlessly. Unconditionally. Who's asked for nothing and given me so much in return. And who I am is _all_ I have to give. So even if he holds his own truths too tight to speak, I _will_ share mine. Come morning.

But the darkness is still thick and full of remembering, so I will while away the hours walking beside him in the far reaches of my mind. It's easy. _These_ aren't memories I've locked away, but ones I carry with me always. They have no sharp edges. No hidden pitfalls. At least not compared to everything else I've known. And falling into them now is easier than drawing a breath. Especially that first day, because it changed _everything_.

I carry it close to my heart. It was Orden. The thirty-eighth. The day when sleeping embers were set aflame, and my heart began to burn.

* * *

Spring crept into Tarbean, stealing across its web of tangled streets and alleys. It warmed the roads until the cobblestones gleamed, and stalks of grass pushed through the frigid earth to stretch into the wind was thick with the sweet scents of daffodils and magnolias. All across Hillside, the crisp air breathed life into the slumbering city, and faces peeked out of windows thrown open to tempt the sun.

When I left the Pendant Eagle for the last time, the day was storybook bright. Clouds streaked the dazzling blue sky like wisps of cotton smoke, and the sun bathed my skin in warmth. I carried little — my travelsack with Calia's comb and papers and my small stash of gifts unworn. Mostly jewelry. My purse was well hidden, pressed against my skin beside the knife I carried always. In my other hand, I held a larger bag, this one filled with as many dresses as I could carry. An extra pair of shoes. I had pawned everything else. For the journey, I had chosen simpler things; pants, a shirt. Clothes more fit to traveling for days and miles. They were the sort of things Denna had once favored, back when life had been a simpler sort of kind.

I had thought of her often in the past few span, picturing her round face in the mirror glass as I stared at my own. I'd run my fingers through my lengthening dark hair, struck by how much it reminded me of hers. It was as if she became less ghost the longer I held on to her. And wasn't it all right if she were my strength? For just a little longer. Until I knew what warmth felt like without her there.

She was with me when my feet took me to Drover's Lot. When I found Roent and Reta and their caravan, bound directly for Anilin. There was a seat for me. The last leg of my journey. It cost me eight jots — nearly a full talent, but the price was fair. I had spotted them immediately upon entering the square, almost as if she had guided me in their direction. I think that was why, when they asked for my name, the first one that came to my lips was hers. She would take this road with me. And then, perhaps when I finally found what I was searching for, I could finally let her go.

I still wonder if I would have ever fallen for him, had I not been wearing her name. Perhaps she had wanted to stay with me. Just a little bit longer.

* * *

"It is a long road to Anilin. Have you ever traveled so far before?"

"Yes." I smiled. "Farther."

"Hmmm." Reta contemplated me "And what takes you to the Ceald?"

"Umm," I paused, but before I could reply, Reta abruptly glanced away, her smiling demeanor shifting into a glower.

" _Mind the coffee, Derrik!_ "

A tall Aturan man atop the nearest wagon turned at the shout and offered her an apologetic wave, simultaneously catching a burlap sack of coffee beans moments before it slid down to the ground. She glared at him.

"Family," I said firmly, and hoped it was true.

Reta turned to me again, her smile falling back into place. "That is wonderful."

I nodded, twisting my hands behind my back. My eyes absentmindedly scanned the square. Beside the covered wagon where Reta sat were three wagons being loaded with goods by no less than twenty men. It looked like they would finish loading within an hour, maybe two at the most. And then we would be off. Anilin at last.

"Don't let him scare you off, kid," I heard Derrik call out suddenly. I turned. He was standing upright atop his wagon, shouting in Roent's direction. "He's decent enough after all the growling."

Roent pointed a stern finger at him, likely scowling under his thick beard, which reminded me overwhelmingly of Charrel's. I smiled, wondering how Hana and Charrel were faring, and let my gaze follow Roent as Derrik returned to his work. I caught a flash of red.

I paused.

There was a boy. Maybe my age or a little younger. He was thin, almost painfully so. His clothes were simple homespun — cheap fabrics, though they looked fairly new. It was the sort of cloth I'd worn so often in days long past that my skin still remembered its rough feel. It was like looking in a mirror-glass, and I didn't want it at all. He wasn't ever what I searched for, nor would he have made my list of suitors. Really, my eyes would have slipped right past him, had it not been for his hair. It was red. True-red, like a hundred burning candles or a river of lava. Like fire made solid. So bright it caught my breath.

"We will leave in two hours," Reta said, and I blinked and turned back to her. The red faded. "If there is anything you have left to do, do it quickly. Roent will not wait once the wagons are packed."

"I understand. I'll be here."

"Good." Reta smiled at me. "When you are ready, you can put your things in the wagon, there. You can ride there too, there will be space enough. Though you may have to walk occasionally."

I nodded.

"You are a young girl. It will not hurt you."

"No," I agreed.

"Reta," Roent said in his heavily accented Aturan as he stepped up beside me. "Another passenger, bound for Imre."

Reta nodded, and I glanced away, not quite catching her reply. My eyes spotted that trace of red again, and for just a moment his gaze met mine. His eyes were clearly green, even across the distance of three wagons. Bright as a blooming forest in the spring. There was a lightness there — just a spark — that spoke of hope and new beginnings, and, almost unwillingly, my face broke into a smile. I wore it long after he looked away. And for much longer than I could easily explain.

* * *

Roent's small caravan rolled out of Tarbean exactly two hours later, just as the sun was cresting amidst the cloudless sky. I felt a budding bubble of excitement swell in my chest as we swept through the city gates. The horses pushed firmy ahead, pulling at their tethers and kicking up clouds of dust from the weary road. I breathed it in, the dusty air somehow sweeter than wine or chocolate. Sweeter than anything I'd ever known. A glance at the red-haired boy, tucked away in the back of the nearest goods-piled wagon, told me his relief was just as palpable. Though it was only visible for the space of a moment before his face settled back into blank unconcern. His eyes, though, remained bright as ever.

"His name is Kvothe," Reta told me, when I casually asked about him later. We were sitting in the back of the covered wagon. She was organizing small bolts of cloth by length and color as she leaned against the canvas wall. "Heading up to Imre."

"It's a wonderful city," I said, evening out two spools until they lay in a neat row. "Why's he heading there? For the arts?"

She shrugged. "He did not say. You can ask him yourself."

"Hmm." I glanced back at the road stretching out behind us. Kvothe was walking alongside Roent's second wagon, his hand absently brushing the mane of one of the horses that pulled it. Reta followed my gaze.

"No funny business in my wagons," she said firmly.

I blushed, partly because I had done just such things in wagons several times. But those wagons had always belonged in some fashion to the other party involved in such funny business. I wouldn't have dreamed of getting caught in that compromising of a position on my own. And the assumption that I'd even wish to do so with Kvothe… "I would never, Reta. He's… he's not…"

She looked down at her work, nudging the fabrics into place. "You young people. Say what you will, but you fall in and out of love with each turning of the wind."

"I'm not so young as that," I muttered.

She glanced at me again, her eyes serious. "Perhaps you are not," she admitted. "There is more time than you can account for present in your eyes. Hanging over you, girl. Like a shadow."

I couldn't think of a suitable answer, so I said nothing. Reta nodded.

"And him as well." She glanced in Kvothe's direction again. "Tehlu only knows what that boy is carrying."

"It appears to be a travelsack," I said lightly. "I'd guess some clothes. Maybe a spare bit of food."

Reta eyed me for a moment before letting out a booming laugh. "You are a clever girl. Help me sort these. I will knock a penny off your fare."

"A silver penny," I insisted.

She laughed. "Optimistic as well. A copper penny. And be happy it is not iron."

"Fine," I agreed, and turned to the heap of fabrics piled up before Reta. We spent the next several hours sorting through them in pleasant conversation. We didn't speak of Kvothe again. But my thoughts drifted to him often, and I wondered if Reta was as perceptive as she appeared.

Toward the end of the day's ride, we found ourselves in the same wagon. Reta and I had long finished our work and had fallen into a comfortable silence after hours of idle chatter. The edges of the sky were just beginning to take on a golden hue when Kvothe and one of the mercenaries hopped onto the back of the wagon bed. They didn't speak, their silence falling into harmony with ours. I watched them absently for a while, my eyes drawn to the way Kvothe's hair seemed to melt into the reddening sky. As if its color had bled out to set the sky's canvas aflame. At the way his hands worked idly at a willow switch, peeling at the bark that bound it. Such delicate strokes. They reminded me of Mother somehow. Of how her fingers had looked when they held the bow of her rebec and brought it to the strings.

When I glanced at him for the third time, I caught him studying my face. His eyes seemed far enough away that it took him a moment to realize I was watching him, and when he did he said nothing, though he didn't look away. It gave me pause. I'd had more men stare at me than I could count, but it had never been difficult to read what they wanted in their eyes. Lust. Desire. It was all plainly visible. Whatever hid behind his muddled gaze wasn't nearly so clear to see.

"Penny for your thoughts?" I asked finally, brushing at a strand of hair that had come loose in the soft breeze.

It seemed to take him an age to reply, and when he did his voice was somehow both weathered and soft, like two distant edges of a broken melody. And his answer wasn't a proposition or desire stated, or anything I expected at all.

"I was wondering what you're doing here."

I opened my mouth to answer, but no words seemed to come. No words of Anilin, or family. Nothing. _Why was that?_ I forced a smile. "Liar."

He shrugged and looked down at this willow switch, seemingly unmoved. Though I wondered if I saw a trace of something in his eyes, which flashed briefly darker. Or was it just the fading light?

But he didn't look up again.

He intrigued me, though I couldn't say why. It hadn't been a peculiar question. Reta and Roent had both asked where I was going, but neither had spoken it with such honest intensity. Neither had made me wonder if I would really… if Anilin was really...

No, neither had made me doubt what I was looking for.

We set up camp as darkness gathered in the distant reaches of the sky. I found him again, standing by the wagons. I walked softly in his direction, drawn to him. As if he were a piece of star iron. He turned, watching me approach him from the shadows. The only sounds were my soft footfalls against the moss-strewn ground, and the gentle rustling of the wind dancing in the trees above us.

"Have you figured it out yet?" I said finally, my voice nearly as soft as the wind.

"Excuse me?" He looked almost afraid. His eyes dark again.

"Why I'm here." I managed a gentle smile, more honest than the one I'd given him before. "I've been wondering the same thing for most of my life, you see. I thought if you had any ideas…" I trailed off. I had meant it as a joke, but once spoken the words were far more honest than I had intended. Far heavier with the weight of memory. My hand shook very slightly, though the forest's shadows concealed them.

He shook his head. "All I've been able to guess is that you're going somewhere."

"That's as much as I've guessed too." I glanced away, my eyes searching out the last traces of light that bathed us from the setting sun, and the wind flared up, catching my hair and throwing it into my face. I brushed it away.

"Do you happen to know where I'm going?" The words cost me, and the emptiness they carried threatened to break into my voice; but I held it steady, the lightness of the moment pushing my sadness away.

He smiled, slowly. Almost as if learning how to do it. "Don't _you_ know?" As if knowing were the simplest thing in the world.

"I have suspicions. Right now I'm thinking Anilin." I paused, rocking back slightly on my feet, wondering if I could really claim this journey now when I'd already promised it to myself so many times. "But I've been wrong before."

He said nothing, simply looked at me, his eyes as dark and serious as ever. Or maybe it was only the looming twilight that stole their color as the silence stretched. I glanced down, twirling Mother's ring around my finger. I had only just met him. It was too deep for this conversation. Much too deep. He hadn't even asked for my name. It was a first — all the men had asked before. In the last few years, I'd gone through more names than I could remember. I lowered my hands.

"Where are you going?" I said, and the silence shattered.

"The University."

"So certain," I said softly, and smiled a little. "How does it feel to know where you are going?"

He watched me, silent again, as if suddenly unsure of his answer. And I realized I wanted to hear it, more than anything. I wanted to know what it felt like. To be _so sure_ that you were going somewhere that wanted you. _Home_. I couldn't remember what that was like. But before he could reply, Reta's voice floated to us on the wind.

"Supper is ready! Come eat or go hungry."

He gave me a small smile and turned away, toward the warmth of the campfire where Reta and Roent sat waiting. I followed and sat beside him by the fire. It was nearly as bright as his hair. And flickered as often as his smile. And mine.

* * *

The next day was brilliant and bright. We trekked steadily north, riding through long patches of sunlight beneath a dotted bluebell sky. I saw Kvothe often in the morning, mostly in the corner of my eye as he helped Derrik hitch up the horses or carried something for Reta. In the early afternoon, he appeared beside me at last, offering to keep me company while I took a turn walking beside the wagons. We talked, our idle chatter turning to idle jokes as we kicked at loose bits of gravel and breathed in the sweet spring air. He had a sharp wit and a quick tongue; quick enough to match even mine.

As the day wore on, we climbed into one of the wagons and whiled away the hours by sharing stories and staring at the clouds. He told me of a man called Ben, who had been his tutor and prepared him for The University by teaching him of herbs and medicines, and of something called "sympathy." I, in turn, told him as much as I knew of herbs and medicines from my scattered childhood memories. It wasn't much, but bonding over Bessamy and Ramsburr kept us occupied for hours. And when our words ran dry, we searched for shapes in the clouds and laughed with the carefree spirit of the children we should have been.

That night, he drew the first shift of watch, and I drew the second. Rather than retreating to my bedroll, I wrapped my blanket round my shoulders and sat with him by the fire, chatting softly as the night wandered into its darkest hours. We didn't count the time, and when his two hours ended and mine began, we stayed beneath the stars and watched the night. Together.

I couldn't say why. _Why_ I kept coming back to him. At the time I thought, perhaps, that he reminded me of Julian. Not in looks or status or character. There were no comparisons, really, except his quiet confidence. Just traces of it. Or the way his eyes lightened when he spoke of books or the arts, though I didn't take him for a writer. But they were worlds apart. Julian had wanted something from me. Something clear-cut and defined, and he'd been willing to pay for it. Whatever it took.

Kvothe, though, had nothing to offer, and had offered nothing. I had no idea what he wanted of me. But when he looked at me, his eyes held mine. As if, for once, I was a person and not some prize to behold. Not a duchess. _Not a whore_. He asked only for my company. And that was all right. I wanted his as well. I had already admitted it to myself during long hours beneath the clouds and sun and flickering firelight. It was the sort of company I hadn't had in a long time. It seemed to warm his heart as much as it warmed mine. And despite what promises I had made myself, I couldn't pull away.

In the end, perhaps it wasn't that he reminded me of Julian, but that he reminded me of myself.

We spent the next day pleasantly together. It was much like the day before, our idle chatter punctuated by long moments of a comfortable sort of quiet where we simply sat and watched the road as the miles and hours rolled by.

That evening, we stopped at an inn. It seemed a welcome departure for most. Warm meals and an evening's entertainment. A roof to sleep beneath. I hated it.

It was loud and rowdy and full of men, and simultaneously reminded me of the taproom at the Mare and some of the taverns I'd frequented in South Renere. There was a pervasive stench of alcohol, so ingrained in the fabric of the room that it seemed like the floorboards and tables had been soaked in it. It clashed with the rank smells of sweat and smoke that infused the air. And most of the patrons were men. There were several women working their way around the room with brittle smiles and eyes that were just a little too bright. Seeing them left my mind swirling with painful memories, and I yearned for the dark sky and the night's gentle quiet. When Kvothe was finished with his food, I pushed my barely touched plate aside and turned to him.

"Want to take a walk? The night is perfect."

He nodded and followed me as I wended my way through a mess of drunk men and cluttered tables, until we finally burst out into the cool night. The first sweet breath of air was a relief. I hadn't realized how tight my chest had been or how hard my heart had been pounding against my chest until we stood there in the sudden quiet. I breathed it in, letting the night's calm steal over me until the tightness in my chest felt smaller. More manageable. And then we set off into the dark.

The inn stood at the edge of a wood, and we stepped into it, picking our way slowly through the trees. As we walked, Kvothe's eyes swept across the forest and he spoke lightly of woodcraft. Of what it would take to survive in these wilds. For a span. Longer.

"I grew up in a city," I admitted, sharing a tiny shred of my past. "I don't know the first thing about getting by in the woods."

"It's easy enough come summer. There are plants you can eat. Bark you can use for medicine…" He pointed out several bits of foliage and spoke their names, though the details have faded to time. I was more curious with the way his eyes flitted across the shadowy landscape of trees towering above us and never quite met mine. "You could live in a place like this for months. If you wanted to."

"It sounds lonely," I said, glancing up into what was left of the sky. The pieces visible through the dense branches were scattered with stars, giving us just enough light to walk by.

"I suppose you're right."

He walked in silence for a bit, his eyes downcast, until I briefly took hold of his hand and pulled him along. He glanced my way and smiled, and then we stepped out into a clearing and the forest was forgotten.

It was beautiful. The open sky glowed with stars, giving the grass before us a silvery sheen. A pond lay at the center, the water black as a mirror and reflecting the sky. We walked to its edge and climbed out onto a rock shelf that extended into the water. He called it a waystone, and I liked the sound of that. It somehow felt safe, magical. Or maybe it was simply the warmth of Kvothe beside me as we sat together and looked up into the sky. It was above and below us, as if I were standing within my map. But in that moment I couldn't find Anilin in the constellations. There was only us. Only me, and Kvothe, and a perfect windless night. And as we talked softly for hours of stars and stories, and the sort of impossible things that can only be spoken aloud in the safety of the dark, I wondered if Anilin wasn't the end of the map after all. In that moment I felt like everything — _everything_ — lay in Kvothe's eyes.

Silver in the starlight.

I lost myself in them, foolishly imagining a future that could never be. A future that seemed to exist solely in this clearing, on this stone. Beneath this boundless sky.

I should have known it then, that these hours of studying each other, of sitting so close that I could feel the heat of him beside me and painting a lifetime in the stars would never leave this place. For we weren't honest, neither of us. I had told him her name… but not her story. Nor mine. For all the words we shared, we hadn't said enough. And not once did our hands touch.

There was a moment, as his eyes studied mine shortly before the dawn, where I thought he felt it too — how tangible this future could be. A moment where he opened his mouth, as if to speak, and I thought a world could exist with just the two of us. Together. And if he only voiced the desire, then I would leave what little I had. I would run with him, chase him into the wind. Grab on to that warmth he carried.

Was that what love was?

This feeling bursting through me, almost too vast to contain. It was warm, like a fire flaring to life from buried embers. But then he turned away and looked out across the water. And he said nothing. And the silence stretched.

I followed his gaze, but this time the stars and water were only that. Only stars. Water. And Kvothe beside me, with his mouth firmly shut.

And I wondered then how the few inches between us were wide enough for the entire world to break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, D's met Kvothe at last! I think I've been waiting for this moment since I wrote chapter one. I only hope I've done it justice. This and some of the following chapters were a bit difficult in that it was important to me to keep this story canon-compliant, but I was also concerned about rehashing too much dialogue and canon events. But K and D's interactions are, after all, quite relevant to her story. And while we don't know how reliable of a narrator Kvothe is, his words are all we have to go on. So anything I may have borrowed while putting it through the lens of D's perspective, I hope you guys can forgive. Thank you so much for sticking with this story! Any kudos or comments are always appreciated!
> 
> Rina


	24. Burned

I didn't sleep.

When we returned to the inn, the sky was lightening into dawn around us, its cool light painting the forest a colorless grey. We walked beside each other the whole way, stepping carefully through the damp underbrush. But the distance between us felt like a gaping break in the earth, its edges crumbling with every footstep. It was too easy to see the facts now that the stars had gone.

He was going. To the University.

He was so far away already. And soon enough, there would be hundreds of miles between us. Just two days more, and it would all be over.

_I would never see him again._

He wished me a good morning — his voice light enough to be a melody that bordered on laughter — and vanished into the stables, where Roent and Reta had secured us all beds of straw. It wasn't much, though I had slept on worse.

But I didn't follow him. Instead, I sat and watched the sun crest above the trees, until the entire forest glowed with color. Fiery. Like his hair. There would be no fire in Anilin. _Not like that._ I felt an odd aching in my chest and squeezed my eyes shut. But I could still see the sunlight, bleeding across my lids until my eyes burned. Until I turned away, and even then. It wasn't a surprise. I was so very tired.

We left not two hours later, and I climbed wearily into the covered wagon. I had meant to doze the morning away, but instead I found Josn. A bard, who had negotiated passage to Anilin with Roent during last night's dinner.

He was lovely. He had wavy hair the color of coffee and a fair complexion. He laughed easily and often, and when he smiled his whole face stretched with honest delight. He was pleased to find someone to share his destination, and we talked for several hours. I'm sure he would have been happy with more — he was the type for it. By which I mean he flattered me endlessly and joked about taking me as one of his wives. But these things were simple enough to brush off with a smile, and he wasn't obstinate enough to push for more. So our conversation stretched and twirled, and we said little of meaning. We said _nothing_.

In an odd way, he seemed the embodiment of the lifestyle I'd once told Julian I wanted, and falling into those memories was strangely cathartic. They had hurt me once. When I'd thought of Julian in those first nights, I had been filled with regret. Some days, I had lamented the easy life I'd given away for seemingly no reason. I could have been happy. _Maybe_. I _would_ have been comfortable. But I'd run off, chasing some idea of love. And months had passed since then. Long days and longer nights. Last night, perhaps, the longest of them all.

So these memories didn't hurt quite so much. Touching them was like ripping plaster off a burn and finding that the wound, which had once been so ghastly, was little more than a scarring of the skin. Still wrinkled and red. Still tender. But the pain had faded. Julian was already lost to time. Now it was thoughts of Kvothe that fractured me.

After all, he never came to find me. Not for the entire day.

That night, he didn't sit next to me by the campfire, choosing a spot beside Derrik instead. It was Josn who plopped down beside me and attempted to engage in idle chatter. I gave him mindless answers, though my heart wasn't in it. My mind had drifted outside the ring of light the campfire made and was traversing shadows.

 _Had last night meant nothing to him?_ The connection between us had been so tangible it felt all but solid. My skin ached for the feel of Kvothe's hand. For the sound of his voice and the world we had made. The two of us beneath the open sky.

Had he come to the same realizations? Last night we had skirted around too many truths. I wondered if he'd sensed the heaviness I carried and wanted no part of it. Or was he done with me after taking what he pleased? No. I refused to believe that he was simply a man. Not like all the rest. I, too, had sensed the edges of the shadow that cloaked him.

And what he'd taken was something no one had touched in years. Something I hadn't realized I was ready to give.

"I think I may play," Josn said abruptly, cutting into my passing thoughts. "Wouldn't you like to hear it?"

"Sure," I agreed.

"Do you reckon Roent and Reta would like some music as well?"

"I suppose."

"Excellent," he said, and hurried off to the wagons to collect his lute. I shot a glance at Kvothe across the fire. He briefly met my eyes and looked away. I bit my lip and glanced down at my hands, twisting Mother's ring until the smokestone dug into my skin.

Tehlu. _Why?_

Josn returned, carrying his lute case. I watched him unpack it, my eyes momentarily getting lost in the way the fire reflected off the brass clasps. And then he played. A love song. A drinking song. Alternating between happy and sad, his voice grazing both ends of the spectrum. He was good — I'm _sure_ he was good. In truth, my mind had wandered until the music was only noise. It might have touched my heart if I'd let it. If I had just cleared a little space. But my chest was much too full of longing.

Josn was putting the lute away when I heard the voice call out into the ring of firelight. The familiar voice, which sounded like how a smile felt when you wore it.

"Could I see that for a second?"

My head snapped up, almost involuntarily. The last time I'd heard his voice had been hours and miles away, in the strange pale light that coats the world right before the sun rises.

"Just for a second?" Kvothe added. His voice was idle, bordering on unconcerned. But he had asked twice. And I suddenly wondered why it felt like the seemingly innocent question meant more to him than air.

Josn agreed. It almost surprised me that he would hand his lute away, though he surely thrived on pleasing others. But in truth, I don't really remember a thing about him or his demeanor. My eyes were only for Kvothe.

He turned the lute over in his hands. Gently. Softly. He cradled it to his chest. Like a mother holding a newborn. His eyes were downcast, but the lines of his face twisted into something that felt familiar. Bitterness, maybe?

"It's beautiful," he whispered, and his voice seemed to crack, the edges fraying.

No, it wasn't bitterness. Just pain.

I felt something ache deep in my chest as he began to play. His fingers on the strings were light, as if the lute were fragile and he was scared to startle it into breaking. He moved slowly, his hands brushing across the neck as he sounded each string. Each note quietly fading into the night. And then the disparate pieces of melody fell together in song. Light at first, simple, as if he were unsure of his fingerings. Had he picked up a lute many times before? And then he bowed his head into the shadows and music poured into the night.

It sounded… Oh, it sounded like the hurt my heart had always known. It was aching. Intricate. It cut deep into me, each strand cloaked in nearly too much pain to hold. Gathering around me, like shadow made solid. Stealing my breath. Until my whole frame seemed to vibrate with the resounding song.

It was _his_ song. His heart laid bare before us to flash in the firelight. And I remembered, then, a different heart. A different song that had carried pain sharper even than this one. Mother. And I saw slivers of empty rooms and sheets stained red. Snow on freshly turned earth. The last warm winter.

The music fell away, abruptly. Suddenly. Startling itself into silence before the end came. Until there was only the night, and the flickering firelight. The few of us frozen around the fire. And in the stillness that remained, I lowered my face into my hands and began to cry in quiet, hopeless sobs.

* * *

Much like all else in my life, it ended. I had expected as much, but when he said his goodbyes, it hurt just the same.

"You could come to Anilin with us," I suggested, my eyes holding his in the early evening twilight. The words felt empty even before I spoke them. He wouldn't come. The slight shake of his head only confirmed it. He looked downcast in his refusal, but he refused all the same. Behind us, the clamor of Roent's crew unpacking grew louder. Between us was only silence.

"Don't look like that," I chided him, managing a smile. _You're the one who's going, aren't you?_ "I'll be there for a while, if things don't work out for you here…" _The offer's there. I've never asked anyone to stay with me before. Not_ anyone _._

But there had never been anyone before whose heart felt like a mirror.

He said nothing, but I could see the uncertainty flit across his face. For a moment, he looked almost lost. And I knew then that even if he followed me to Anilin, he would never find me. It was a vast city, larger even than Tarbean.

"I guess I'll just have to come looking for you, then," I said, offering him a playful smile. _But how could I?_ All my hopes were pinned on Anilin. Though it was hard to go just then. I would have abandoned it, had he asked. But he hadn't. He'd spoken sweetly beneath the stars, but in the light of day he didn't want me. _Not enough._ The same way I hadn't wanted Julian.

It was suddenly much too hard to look him in the eyes.

"I had better go. Watch for me," I managed, my smile as present as ever. And then I turned and hurried away before my face could slip.

"I will," he called after me. "I'll see you where the roads meet."

I glanced back, hesitating. But he said nothing else, and I waved and turned away, walking steadily further from Kvothe and into the lengthening night. I spent it curled beneath my old cloak, and the hours were dark and long. And empty.

* * *

I wish I had been braver, then. I wish I'd had the courage to call out his name instead of walking away. Truly, I wish I'd stayed in Imre, or followed him to The University. I could have studied poetry; or music, if they taught such things. Perhaps I could have even learned a bit about magic.

Magic. Dark forces better left alone. Best not to be meddled with. That's what Father had always called it, though Mother had been tight-lipped on the subject. But Tehlu knows, after last night I've certainly meddled enough. And I will not soon forget these marks. Perhaps Father had been right all along.

Still, I wish I never went to Anilin. I wish I didn't have to learn the lessons that it taught me, even though they shaped who I became. I would have managed just as well without them. I'm not so strong as that. I don't know how many times more I can watch the world burn down around me, though Tehlu knows it's happened so often that I can no longer feel the flames.

But I found him again. I came back, when everything in Anilin fell apart. There was nowhere to go, so I went to Imre. I'd been there many times before. I knew Deoch and Stanchion at the Eolian. I'd formed relationships with half a dozen pawn shops. It was a logical place to go, but it wasn't the reason I went. Even then, I was searching for him. I spent time with Sovoy, and the men before him, because I had to survive. I had _always_ survived. But also because many of them studied at the vast complex that made up The University. And I had to find him. To see him again.

It was cruel. But I am… cruel. And foolish. But honest, at least with myself. And with him, Kvothe. I haven't told him every truth, but I've told him no lies either, except for her name. And how much of a lie is it, really? Is it so wrong to keep holding on to her? She was the one who knew of love, who understood it, even as it took her away. But maybe I'm foolish for that too — for thinking I can do better. Maybe that's why I've been so afraid to tell him the truth.

He is fire, endlessly ablaze. Warm beside me. But if I get too close, can I stand the heat of the flames? I already know how they can scorch. Just the memory of her is proof enough. But his light and warmth still pulls at me. I can't keep dancing away. I want to give him something too, for all he's given me. Our favors have been uneven. His pipes… for my life? No, it isn't enough. And all I have left to give him is my truth. And my heart.

Just a few more hours till morning now. I can feel it in the way my darkness lightens. In the way the night weighs less around me and this strange, sharp dream begins to fade.

Anilin. It was the next stop on my journey. The long-awaited golden city. I can still see it. The perfect streets. The beautiful facades. But the dark rooms they hid are full of shadows now. Harder to decipher. So while I still see the outline of Uncle Allard's thin face, the details are harder to remember. If I focus, I can make out the curves of his graying goatee. The steely glint of his eyes, which I had once mistaken for welcome before I saw its true face. Greed.

And why? Why should I remember it? Haven't I felt pain enough without living it all again? Why should I dwell on how he and Aunt Flora welcomed me into their modest home after I spent span tracking them down. They had been full of smiles and kind words then. Uncle Allard hadn't seen Mother since she'd left for Renere with her rebec and the family ring, but when I told them of her fate, they shared in my grief. They were exactly what I had been searching for. A family. At least on the surface. Their daughter, Dara, had been colder. She was a chubby girl with horribly bushy eyebrows and a crooked nose, and her greeting was little more than silence, which had festered to anger over time. But Aunt Flora wrung her hands and called her a rude and bitter girl, and I ignored her at my detriment. Too carried away in the sudden happiness of belonging.

It was a blissful few span. The days that passed were full of the nothings of a simple life. The sort of life I'd once known. Chores. Meals together. Laugher at the table. It was the life I'd dreamed of beneath tattered bedspreads in cold attics. Beneath warm blankets and silks in the finest inns. The normalcy I had lost. So I helped Aunt Flora around the house. I came by the tailor shop that had once belonged to my grandfather, and it was empty enough for Uncle Allard to give me a tour. I cooked meals in their kitchen, and brought drinks when guests were visiting. Uncle Allard introduced me as his niece and I glowed with pride. And ignored Dara's dark looks. I was a part of this family, after all. Just as she. Hadn't Uncle Allard's and Aunt Flora's generous hospitality proved as much?

I should have known it was too good to be true. Just like everything else. I know who I am. And Tehlu knows, there is no one in this world willing to throw me a loaf, unless it's burnt. Or laced with poison. And Uncle Allard and Aunt Flora… they offered the latter.

Hell, I nearly baked it myself.

* * *

"Come in here, girl. Sit with us." It was Uncle Allard's voice, booming through the house and into the kitchen, where I stood pouring drinks. They were entertaining — a merchant friend of theirs. He had visited several times in the last few span and I had seen him in passing, though they usually did not invite me to visit with their guests. I lifted the glasses and carried them into the sitting room, setting them carefully on the small table before perching on the edge of the lounging couch.

"My niece, you know," Uncle Allard said by way of introduction. "And this is Heldon."

I nodded politely, though Uncle Allard had made these introductions once before, when I first met Heldon several span ago. He was an older gentleman, well into his third score of years if his lined face and wild graying hair were any indication. He shifted forward in his chair to look me over, the buttons of his fine coat stretching across his considerable girth, and smiled from beneath his mustache. It really needed a trim.

"It's lovely to see you, Heldon. I've brought wine," I said, my voice tuned to the perfect shade of polite. As much as I didn't want to spend the evening entertaining their guest, it was the least I could do for the last piece of family I had found in all the four corners. They had been kind enough to take me in when I had nothing to offer in return. My time was the least of it, even if doing so reminded me of countless such evenings which I'd rather forget. But they knew nothing of that piece of my life, and that would remain.

Uncle Allard reached for a glass and sipped it appreciatively. "I thank you, hon. A lovely girl."

Aunt Flora nodded, beaming at me. "She is a perfect hostess. She cooks, too. It's been such a pleasure having her with us."

I smiled and glanced away, my cheeks burning. "It's the least I can do, Aunt Flora. After you've been so welcoming."

"And do you cook well, my dear?" Heldon asked in light accented Aturan, eyeing me with interest.

"Oh, yes," Aunt Flora said, before I could answer. "Wonderful meals. Cakes, too. It's all Vintish fare. She was raised in Vintas, wasn't she?"

"Where in Vintas?" Heldon asked.

I paused for a fraction of a second. "Renere."

"Ahh, the capital. And how is the king's city these days?" Heldon asked with enthusiasm. "It's been like a second home, but that was years ago, of course." He laughed, patting his overlarge belly. "Time to leave the running around to the youngins, eh?"

"It… it's all right." I reached for my own glass of wine and hastily took a sip.

"Oh, don't question the poor girl about that," Aunt Flora cut in. "She lost her whole family there. Horrible tragedy. That's why she's come to us."

"Of course, of course," Heldon said quickly, and let aunt Flora steer the conversation to happier topics, such as his upcoming retirement. I learned, over the course of the evening, that he had traveled the four corners with his merchant caravan. But at fifty-five, he was finally ready to pass on the reigns. His nephew would be taking over the business. Heldon, meanwhile, had purchased a mansion house here in Anilin — a city he praised as being "much too generous" in all his years of passing through it. He had little choice but to settle down and reap its rewards.

He drank freely, with Uncle Allard easily keeping pace while Aunt Flora and I refilled the glasses. They laughed and spoke of business and women and family in that free way that only men could speak. Until even Aunt Flora sat silent beside me. And Dara was nowhere to be found.

It was hours before I was able to slip away. I left them down below, in the flickering brightness of oil lamps and candles, and stole through the shadows that cloaked the upper floors. It was quiet, the voices from below murmuring out into silence. Just the creaking of the stairs now. The quiet humming of a well-worn house.

I don't know why, but somehow I remember the walk most of all.

I found Dara in the small room beneath the attic that Aunt Flora and Uncle Allard had been kind enough to let me use when I showed up on their doorstep. She was sitting on my bed, one foot bouncing against her ankle. Her face was set, the thin line of her mouth almost sculpted into place in the moonlight filtering in through the window glass.

I set down my candle on the table beside the door. "What are you doing here?"

It took her a moment to respond, but the look she gave me was hard. Sharp around the edges. "It's my house, isn't it?"

"Still." I stepped inside and let the door fall closed behind me with a soft creak. "This is my room."

"Not for long now." She folded her arms across her chest.

"What do you mean?"

She gave me a pitying look. "Tiny gods. You have no idea, do you? You don't know. You haven't a clue. _You idiot._ "

I could feel the heat of her anger from across the room. It was more words than she had spoken to me since I'd arrived.

"What do you want, Dara?"

She stood, shaking her head until her frizzy curls fell into an untamable tangle. They hid her face in the pale candlelight, like shadows gathered. "It's gone on too long, you know?" she said softly. "I was going to tell you. You'll know soon enough anyway. Even you have a right. But how? _How could you not see it?_ You can't be so thick as that. So you must be a liar."

"If you're just here to insult me, get the fuck out of my room," I snapped, my patience worn threadbare. I was exhausted. Heldon was exhausting, and Uncle Allard drunk was exhausting too. In that moment, I didn't care anymore that she was my cousin. That she was Uncle Allard's daughter and I was a guest in her home. I was tired of her angry glares and bitter silences. Of the way she threw sharp words at Aunt Flora and stalked out of the room when she saw me approach. The way Aunt Flora and Uncle Allard excused her behavior. Her clear disrespect. And this tirade — it served her no better. And I'd had wine enough to speak my mind.

"Fine," she spat, and I saw her hands curl into angry fists. She pushed past me roughly on her way to the door. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

I sat wearily on the bed, watching her stalk out of the room. The very walls seemed to vibrate with the anger of her heavy footfalls. But she would be gone soon enough, back in her room down below, and I would have peace at last. But she stopped on the landing. Abruptly. Her back still to me. And then she spoke, almost as if she couldn't contain the words. As if they were a fire, bursting out of her. And I didn't expect them at all.

"They're going to have you marry him, you know."

"Who?" I said blankly.

"Who?" she repeated, and her tone was mocking. "Heldon."

" _Heldon?_ "

"Heldon," she said slowly, stressing his name. "The man you just spent four hours entertaining. He's paying my parents a pretty penny for you."

I stared at her blankly, my mouth dropping open. I felt numb. _Burnt_.

"What..."

"You don't believe me?" She let out a short and bitter laugh. "You _should_. I would know, wouldn't I? It was supposed to be me."


	25. Different This Time

"It was supposed to be me," she repeated. She was pacing the room now, back and forth. Wearing the shape of her anger into the age-old floor. And all I could do was sit numbly on the bed and stare. Just minutes ago, I had yearned for its softness. Now, the bedsheets stung my skin. Like rakes.

"I was _promised_ ," she continued, no longer able to stop her tirade. "My parents already paid the dowry. One hundred talents! But then you came along. You, with your pretty face and your perfect skin. And he decided he'd rather have you." Her face was now so hard I barely recognized her.

"I don't want him," I managed.

The words seemed woefully inadequate, but shock still numbed me. I had given Kvothe up to come here, to find them. Family. And if I couldn't have him, I wouldn't… No, this couldn't be.

_Not again._

"You think that matters?" Dara spat, and her angry voice echoed through me. "He offered a bride price for you. How could they refuse?"

"This is a horrible prank, Dara." I said quietly, grasping at the last threads of my sanity. _Not again._ "Stop it."

"You think I'm joking?" She actually laughed. " _Listen_ , Father's agreed. Do you understand? And Mother's already been stashing the coin. She's been bribing me with it for span to be a good girl and let this go."

I said nothing, my lips so numb they felt frozen.

"Lots of other husbands," Dara added, her voice mocking. "That's what she said. _Lots of other men for you, Dara, sweetie._ As if husbands with such reach and money come round every other span. They would've already benefited if he married me. They would have been in the family. _I would have provided for them!_ But now they can reap the same rewards with you twice over. Don't even have to pay a penny for them! And you'll be Heldon's lady wife, and shit cares what happens to me! They'll probably sell me off to the first man that offers. Like some whore."

"That can't be true," I whispered. I felt the air draining from the room. My lungs strained to breathe.

"Of course it's true." She stopped abruptly, and her hands balled into fists at her side. "It's all they care about. _Money_."

Her eyes met mine, and I was shocked to see them shimmer in the candlelight. The anger was gone. And in its place stood nothing more than a broken girl.

"If you don't believe me," she added softly, "just have a look at your jewels."

"You went through my things?" I said, because the accusation was easier to voice than anything else in my heart.

"No, you fool." She shook her head, her expression pitying. "Mother did."

With a trembling hand, I reached beneath the bed, where I had tucked away my small parcel of money and jewels. My rainy day fund. All the things I'd painstakingly saved for months in case I needed coin when things turned sour. I didn't need to open it now to see the truth of Dara's words. It weighed like empty hope and broken trust. And nothing. Because everything I'd saved was gone.

* * *

They had betrayed me. Used me. Just like Father. It was more than I could stomach. I should have expected it. My life had been split into very clear lines. Before, and After. Before and after Denna had died. And everything after that had been seven kinds of horrible. I should have never allowed myself to think it could be different. But I'd let that foolish thing blind me. That thing called "hope." And when hope breaks, you feel that pain twice over. The edges are harsher, as if the hope has been sharpening them all the while. Like a knife pressed to the grindstone.

Of the confrontation that followed, I remember little. And I wish I remembered nothing, because their words had cut like steel.

" _We're doing you a favor, girl. We're handing you a rich husband on a platter."_

" _A girl with no standing or family. How do you expect to find anyone who'll have you?"_

"I don't _want_ a rich husband," I had hissed. "I want a husband I love."

"Love?" Aunt Flora had actually laughed. "You think marriage is about love? Marriage is about money. And sacrifice."

A marriage I would never accept.

"I'm not doing this." My words were ice and steely resolve. Though still, they'd pushed.

"Of course you are. We've already agreed. He's been promised a wife."

"Who do you think you are? To sell me? To collect money _for_ me?" The rage had consumed me then, hot and angry as a dozen hearthfires, until I could feel the shape of Dara's anger burning in my own chest. "You think you own me? _I don't belong to you!_ "

"You're the one who came to us. With nothing. We took you in."

"Nothing? I see you helped yourselves to my things! _Where is my money?_ "

There had been no shame on their faces. "It's payment for putting you up. You expect us to feed you and clothe you for nothing?"

"You may be my sister's daughter, but you're a strain on our family. We owe you nothing."

"We've done so much for you. Taken you in. Even arranged your future. You should be thanking us."

"Well don't worry," I snapped in cold anger. "I won't be troubling you any more. I'm leaving."

"Leaving? You can't leave."

" _Watch me._ Or are you going to tie me to a horse cart and drag me to Heldon's mansion with my legs spread open?" I'd hissed.

They looked shocked. As if they couldn't believe I could be so crass.

"We're helping you, you stupid girl! Can't you see that this is best?"

"How can you say such vile things?"

"Aren't they true?" I said softly, my anger simmering below the surface now. My voice controlled. "You were going to introduce me slowly. You planned to convince me. You were so sure that I would agree that you made the arrangements with him before even speaking to me. It didn't even cross your minds that I might not want this. You know nothing about me. _Nothing_."

I took a step toward them, and they backed away. My anger rose again until it reverberated through the tiny kitchen. "You're _selling me to him,_ uncle. Like a pig at market. And now that I've said no… Now that I won't agree, if you could tie me down to do it, you would."

And they were silent. Aunt Flora's bony lips drawn into a thin line. Uncle Allard's face's a drunken fury.

There was nothing more to say. I had already collected what was left of my things. I couldn't stand another moment in this broken house. I pushed past them angrily, my eyes set on the door ahead.

"Where are you going?" Aunt Flora hissed.

"Anywhere," I said coldly. "Anywhere but here."

"How dare you?" she all but screamed. "You ungrateful girl. You show up out of nowhere. And then you leave us like this. What would you have us tell Heldon?"

"Tell him whatever you like."

"He will bring us before the court!" she cried. "He will demand retribution."

I ignored her, my eyes set on the door ahead. Another step closer.

I heard angry footfalls behind me and abruptly felt someone grab at my arm. I whirled. It was Uncle Allard, his face set in a horrendous grimace. His teeth bared. Cold stole through me, but I pushed it aside. I had faced worse, after all. And I was not afraid.

"Let go of me," I said quietly.

"You owe me." His voice was a drunken growl, his angry eyes locked on me. "I took you in. You owe me, girl."

With my other hand, I reached abruptly through the slit in my dress. For the knife laying flat against my hip. It glinted in my hand when I drew it between us, and his eyes widened. Behind him, Aunt Flora screamed.

"I don't owe you anything," I said quietly, and raised the knife higher, until it was pointed at his chest. "Let me go."

He did, his arm falling numbly to his side as he released my wrist.

"I'm leaving now. You will let me go. You won't follow me." My lips stretched into a horrible grimace. "Or I'll kill you."

"You wouldn't," Aunt Flora said. "You wouldn't dare. You horrible girl. She's bluffing, Allard!"

"Am I?" I smiled then. Cruelly. I hoped the honesty showed. "I've killed a man with this knife before."

The blade hovered in the air between us for a long moment, my hand steady on the worn metal handle. The kitchen fell silent and still, their eyes glued to the knife. I could hear the ragged sound of their breathing. The sputter of the lights. The frantic beat of my heart. I backed slowly toward the door, still staring them down. I wanted to turn. To flee. But if I had learned one thing on the streets of South Renere, it was when to keep your fear chained tight. And mine was.

I was nearly to the door.

"Leave the ring."

My eyes shot to Uncle Allard, who had thrown the words at me from across the kitchen.

"If you're going to run off on us, leave Althea's ring. It's worth a bloody fortune."

I squeezed my hand into a fist, locking Mother's ring firmly inside. "No."

"It belongs in the family," Uncle Allard protested. "We can trace it back to Yll through three generations."

" _I'm_ Mother's family," I spat, my anger rising again. "And you will not take another thing from me." And with that I turned to the door and flung it open.

Out in the garden which encroached onto their stone path, I saw Dara. She was standing silently in the dark, her eyes swimming with the reflected lamplight that spilled from the windows.

"I'm leaving," I informed her as I strode past. "You're free to marry him. All yours."

I hoped she wouldn't. But what did it matter.

* * *

There was nothing in Anilin for me after that. I was no stranger to leaving cities in the dead of night. To letting the wind take me down another road, into another place.

It was far from easy. My so-called family had left me with little more than the clothes on my back. It was like starting over again with nothing but the benefit of experience. But as I told myself night after empty night, I'd made do with worse before. This was a familiar trail before me, leading through a forest I knew. With markers along the way, showing me where to place each step. I _could_ live as I had before. Seeing men. Taking their money, their favors. Their food. I _would_ do it… to survive.

But Tehlu, was life meant to be so empty?

I decided then, with this fresh layer of grief still settling around me, that this time it would be different. I couldn't keep going like this, with no end and no beginning. Just an endless stream of empty beds and time that didn't belong to me stretching on and on and on until it was nearly enough to choke on. As if my whole life was just surviving… and waiting to die.

And it wasn't enough.

I wanted to go back. To a half-remembered life where Denna and Mother were alive and Father was kind again, and the world was simpler. Where the thought of tomorrow didn't hurt quite so much. But that life was gone, I knew that. There was no going back — nothing to go back _to_. But I knew that sort of life could still exist. I knew it, because I had felt it just recently. Even if only for three days.

With Kvothe.

And he was gone too, I knew that. Off chasing his own little corner of the world. But for those three days with him, I had dared to dream of a future. One that _I_ wanted. And if I was going to live, _really_ _live_ , I needed that again. Not Kvothe so much, but the dreaming. I had to find something for myself. To carve out a piece that was only and truly mine. And I already knew exactly what that was. It was Kvothe, really, who had reminded me that night in the firelight. And now my heart ached with the strum of it.

Music.

It had been years since I'd last touched Mother's rebec. But it was gone. Irreplaceable. And I didn't have the talents to buy any instrument, nor the skill to play it. But I still had my voice.

And there was already a place that pulled at me. A place where music lived in the halls and danced in the streets, until the cobblestones hummed with its energy. Within two span, I was in Imre. And if I found Kvothe while I was there… If I found Kvothe… Well, it would be a lie to not admit that I wanted him as well.

Music. And Kvothe. How odd, the way they both came together in the harmony of song.

* * *

It would also be a lie to say that when I got to Imre, I didn't spend a single evening with a gentleman. Music could support me, but it wouldn't happen overnight. I knew that. I still needed to live. To eat. I needed money as much as ever, if not more. Instruments cost more than I could easily make in span, and if my life had taught me one thing, it was to be honest with myself. And the truth was that I could never hope to afford it on my own. There were only two ways available to me to fund the sort of life I wished. A rich husband. Or a patron.

And I'd already made it clear that I didn't want the first.

A patron, however, proved harder to find than I imagined. I had a rough idea of how to start. I returned to Imre on a fine evening toward the beginning of summer and spent the next few span ingratiating with the inner circles of its upper echelons. As Diana, Dinael, Davena. I spent evenings with gentlemen who made wild promises of harps and flutes and pipes, but the thing they wanted in exchange was not my music. And every time they asked too much, I started over. In another bar, or music house, or tavern. There was an endless stream of them, in Imre and Tarbean both. I flitted between, blown about by the cruel and unrelenting wind.

The easiest way, perhaps, would have been to try for my pipes at the Eolian. I debated it. Even discussed it with Deoch on many evenings as I drank wine and watched while Imre's best played the most coveted stage in town. Any musician that had earned their pipes could perform on that stage whenever they pleased. And I could try too, if I were willing. It would have cost me a whole golden talent, though Deoch hinted he would be happy to lower the price. And even without his charity, I could scrape the coin together. If I was successful, not only would I earn the highest honor a musician could hope for this side of the Centhe Sea, but I would put myself on display before hundreds of potential patrons. I could find one there, even if I didn't earn my pipes. It would have been the simplest thing in the world.

But it wasn't.

For one, I had watched dozens take the stage with hope burning in their eyes. Many were fantastic, exuding raw talent thick enough to cut. But span later, only three had achieved that most coveted reward. The highest honor. _Their pipes._

And nearly all of them had been better than me. All, really, if I discounted the ones who were simply horrible. And the ones who _had_ received their pipes were untouchably good. With voices clear and rich as honey and fingers that danced across strings or keys to weave melodies so chilling that they left me shaken. And I knew, after watching them, that I might have a voice that left men spellbound, but I could never hope to earn my pipes without a musical accompaniment. I was untrained and out of practice. My gifts too small. I simply wasn't good enough.

It would have still been worth the talent. I would have paid it, since I refused to take Deoch's charity. But I had made too many rounds. Used too many names, then and now. Left too many bills at too many inns unpaid. The Eolian was Imre's greatest treasure, and everyone who was anyone within a hundred miles had been at least once, if not several times a month. A _span_. And if I stepped on that stage, I would light myself up at their mercy. I would risk recognition. Reciprocation. My names… my secrets revealed.

Perhaps I'd get a patron, but I'd just as likely be strung up by the constables as well.

So every time Deoch and even Stanchion asked me to step onto the stage, I shook my head.

"Not yet."

"They'd love to hear you," Deoch promised.

"I'm not ready." I doubted I would ever be ready. I had dug myself into far too deep a corner. There was no reconciling that with Stanchion's stage.

Still, without the Eolian I made little progress. Some days it was as if I'd never promised myself anything would change at all. Sure, I had dreams now. Aspirations. But my life was still an endless line of men who wanted to take more than they ever offered to give. And for all the praise and applause that potential patrons showered me with, for all the promises they made, not one came to fruition. If the entirety of my efforts could be summed up in one evening, it would be the dinner party at Duke Samerson's estate in Aetnia.

I traveled there towards the end of summer with a gentleman named Royen, who appeared, at least initially, to be quite interested in my music. He was closely acquainted with Duke Samerson, who — Royen claimed — was in search of a court performer. We spent two days on a coach traveling to the distant city, where Royen promised an enjoyable few days and an introduction to the duke. He was in need of someone urgently, at least according to Royen. Perhaps even to perform at the dinner, for all the singers and lutists and harpists in his retinue weren't fit to wipe the dirt from his shoes.

It was a ridiculous accusation, and I never should have believed it. I think I didn't, truly, but it was nice to flirt with hope again. It seemed to come back to me, no matter how many times I've tried to let it go.

Royen _did_ introduce me to the duke, but there was no mention of my music. No talk of the dinner besides what dishes his esteemed cooks had prepared. And the night's entertainment was well accounted for. There was a string of performers, each outdoing the ones before. And the final act: a heart-wrenching rendition of _The Lay of Sir Savien Traliard_ performed by an Aturan couple, which left the entire hall in tears so heavy the dessert tasted like salt. It left me in tears too, much like the last time I'd heard it. Even though I had watched them rehearse before the dinner began, too angry to spend the intervening hours with Royen who wished for nothing but to bring me to bed.

It was the most difficult of difficult songs. It drew tears straight from a person's heart. And the complexity of the vocals. The dance of the strings… Perhaps if I could master something of its sort, then a patron would be easier to come by. But still, I had nowhere to sing such a song. The Eolian was out. Royen was out too, after that lie-filled mess of an evening. I couldn't bear to spend another moment in his company. I returned to Imre, stealing away in the early morning hours. Shedding my name again. Denea was just another girl fading in the wind, her name already lost to time. And in her place stood someone else. Dianne. Another mask to wear, because that seemed easier than being myself. Whoever that even was anymore.

I met Sovoy the next evening. I liked him. He was a handsome dark-haired man, with a neatly trimmed beard and the characteristic high cheekbones that spoke to his Modegan ancestry. He was a little pompous, but I had yet to meet a gentleman who wasn't. And behind his elaborate demeanor, he was kind and perfectly polite. He was well educated. A student, in fact, at The University across the river. For a span, I tried to work up the courage to ask if he knew Kvothe. The University was huge — a sprawling complex of odd-shaped buildings scattered within a town overflowing with alcohol. A town that seemed to exist solely for the purpose of entertaining the hundreds of students who lived there. What were the chances that this fine Modegan gentleman with coin enough to entertain me for days on end would be acquainted with someone like Kvothe, who had little more than the clothes on his back? And even then, Kvothe had never met Dianne. And Sovoy had never met Denna.

On Mourning, Sovoy took me to the Eolian. I nodded at Deoch on our way in before following Sovoy up to the third circle — a small slice of a balcony with a distant view of the stage below and a smattering of widely spaced tables. We picked one near the railing and Sovoy ordered a bottle of fine Vintish wine.

The night stretched. I found his hand on my hip more often than not, but that was the price to pay for a warm meal and a soft place to rest my head. And I was used to paying it. I knew how much things could cost.

So we sat there for hours, indulging in wine and each other's company as the lights dimmed and music flowed up to us from the stage like the bursts of talk and laughter that followed. Twice, Stanchion slipped past our table in the wake of two unsuccessful trials. The second time, he asked me if I thought the Aturan girl below had played well enough to earn the highest honor.

"Her singing was exquisite," I told him honestly. "But her playing was not to your standards." Much like mine.

"She was wonderful, wasn't she?" Sovoy remarked after Stanchion walked away. "I do believe she'll get her pipes."

I smiled sadly. I wanted to believe it too, but I didn't. And I was not disappointed.

And then the lights dimmed again, and for the third time in my life, I heard the opening notes of that familiar song. The one that threatened to tear out my heart each time. But this time… _this time_ , it merely set it ablaze. The tearing, I suspected, would come later.


	26. Heart Song

It was Kvothe.

I couldn't say how I knew with such certainty, for the stage below was small enough to grasp in my hand and the brightness of the lights washed out the entirety of its color, but I could feel it reverberating in my soul with the whispers of his voice. All that knowing. All that pain and beauty wrapped up in those sweet words that spoke of tragedy and heartbreak. _The Lay of Sir Savien._ How many times in my life would I hear this beautiful, horrible, painful song? How many times would I feel its grief and heartbreak?

But this time was different. Because down below in the midst of all that bursting song and glowing color was Kvothe. And my heart soared, and broke, and soared all again.

The music danced, echoing across the seats and rafters. Across the hearts of every soul in that place. Mixing with Kvothe's voice, like a tapestry being sung to life.

" _Still! Sit!"_ he sang. And we did. And his fingers danced across the strings of a lute and set the night afire. Until the very air trembled with beautiful sorrow.

I lost myself in the song. In the power of his voice, which was clear and proud. The voice of Sir Savien, blurring across the boundaries between the past and present. Between fiction and fact. Until I could no longer tell where Savien's voice faded and Kvothe's began. He _was_ Savien. And no world existed, but that of the Amyr — now lost to history. The setting of the most tragic love story of them all.

And then the song changed. Shifted from the pattern I had known. He doubled the third refrain. And then he looked up, out into the silent audience, and the pieces of song began to fade. Unraveling like loose threads. And I realized what was missing. What I had failed to see earlier as I lost myself in his words and voice _._ It was more than a song. It was the greatest of love stories. And a love story couldn't exist without two hearts. Two _voices_.

And where? _Where was Aloine?_

His eyes stared up, out into the crowd. Glowing green for a moment in the bright lights as they brushed against mine. Searching.

And in that moment, as the last notes of music faded away, I understood.

" _Savien, how could you know… it was the time for you to come to me?"_

I was on my feet before I remembered moving, my hands grasping the edge of the metal railing as my voice — small and unsure at first, but growing louder — drifted down onto the stage.

" _Savien, do you remember the days we squandered pleasantly?"_

I was _singing_. Singing for the stage I had yearned for and feared in equal measure. Touching it with my voice, with my likeness still hidden away in pooling shadow. And no one could touch me now. The world had narrowed to me and Kvothe. To Savien and Aloine. To a love story so wondrous the earth had felt need to strike it down.

" _How well then have you carried what have tarried in my heart and memory?"_

I sang. The song burning inside me. My voice weaving with his as Savien and Aloine came together on the refrain and we danced around each other, ours colors twining like paint. Revealing the most beautiful canvas, as if it had been waiting all this time. Just asking to be unfurled. My voice growing surer all the while. My words never faltering. And around us, the song swelled, the promise of its tragedy looming.

And then tragedy came. Though not in the form I was expecting.

There was a piercing sound. A echoing snap that burst from the stage and resonated through the hall. And in its wake, the music shattered into a sudden silence, like a candle being snuffed from life. Leaning down over the railing, I saw Kvothe frozen upon the glittering stage. A flash of a string, falling away from the neck of the lute in agonizing slowness. His eyes burning beneath the lights.

I felt my heart beat against my ribcage, fluttering in rhythm with the song that still held me even as its last echoes faded away. It was over. And I ached with longing. With regret. My heart was breaking for him.

And then impossibly, unbelievably, he brought his fingers back to the six strings that remained and began to play. Slowly at first. Then faster. His hands weaving the shattered pieces of song back into something unbrokenly whole. Something that was imperfect, and all the more beautiful for it. For what it had overcome... to be alive.

It was magic, pure and simple. He had done the impossible. And somehow so had I.

He reached the final refrain, and I sang again. Our voices fusing into harmony. Mine gentle, his clear and bright. His music deeper even than the night I'd heard him play across the fire, with its glow bathing his skin in amber. Even with only six strings.

And it was over. Suddenly. Shockingly. He looked up, out into the silent hall, his skin translucent beneath the lights. His eyes lost deep within. And then he lowered his face into his hands and wept. Two floors above, I did the same.

* * *

It took me over an hour to find him. I had wished for nothing else, but I was still playing a part and Sovoy had been relentless with his praise and admiration.

"I didn't know you could sing like that, Dianne!"

"They should give _you_ your pipes as well."

It was a relief that I was used to foolish flattery. Otherwise his words may have hurt.

I finally managed to get away from Sovoy by enlisting his assistance in the search for my singer. And then I was off, slipping between chairs and tables with such graceful speed that they all but leapt out of my way. I didn't find him on the main level, though, where I surely expected him to be holding court, nor on the one above. And by the time I finished searching that floor, a small fear had wormed its way into my heart.

_He may have left._

I had waited too long, sitting there with Sovoy and letting him flatter me endlessly. All the while wasting precious _time_. And how would I find him now? I had never had luck crossing the river into the University town. Not in span and span.

My feet carried me back up to the third tier, following a familiar path that I'd walked many times before. I kept my eyes on the ground, refusing to admit defeat. There was nothing on the third tier but reclusive couples in search of privacy and an over-abundance of wine. But if I didn't find him there, it was over. I had looked everywhere else. I'd let him slip away. _Again_.

I was halfway to our table when I glanced up and saw him.

He was simply standing there, silent, his burning eyes locked on my face.

Kvothe.

It was like a fire suddenly flared to life inside me, its wild energy stealing through my limbs. I rushed at him, all but skipping with the sudden burst of excitement. _He was there. Right there._ He hadn't left. No, it was him who'd come to me.

I was inches away when I remembered my position. When I became aware of the people that surrounded us, their eyes all the sharper for being turned away. I was here as a lady. _Sovoy's_ lady. And the Eolian wasn't a place I wished to burn with the kindling of my failing propriety.

I was half a step from falling into his arms when I pulled back, stumbling slightly. Reaching out a hand to steady myself against his chest. My heart beating against my chest. I smiled. And it felt like clouds parting after a heavy rain. Like the sun peeking out and its warmth washing over me. As sudden as the ending of an unexpected storm.

For a moment, he seemed frozen. His eyes almost shocked as they roved across my face. And then he took a half step back and bowed. Like a gentleman in a proper court. His cloak draped elegantly behind him. He brought his lips to the back of my hand, lingering there for only a moment. But it was enough to send shivers down my arm.

"I am at your service, my lady," he said, standing and releasing my hand. It was terribly formal. A far cry from the Kvothe I'd once known.

"My lady?" _Was he pretending too?_ "Very well, if you insist."

I offered him a curtsy. It was ridiculous. Here we were, exchanging formalities as if we were back at Duke Samerson's estate. Him in the same shirt he'd once worn on the road months ago. And me? I barely owned the clothes on my back. I would likely leave my rooms without paying once my tryst with Sovoy was over.

"Your lady," I said sweetly. All courtly and proper. The charade carrying on. "What are you doing up here in the third circle alone?" And then a terrible thought struck me. " _Are_ you alone?"

"I was alone," he said. "'Now unexpected Aloine beside me stands.'"

Quoting our song. _Our song._ That was silly. Still, I couldn't help but smile.

"How do you mean, unexpected?"

"I had more than half convinced myself that you had already left," he admitted. And my heart soared. He _had_ sought me out. And suddenly the night was wonderful. Perfect.

"It was a near thing," I teased. "Two hours I waited for my Savien to come. Finally, filled with despair, I decided Aloine could do the finding this time, and damn the story." I think my smile was wide enough to crack my face by then.

"'So we were ill-lit ships at night…'" Kvothe began, quoting _Felward's Falling_ this time.

"...passing close but all unknown to one another,'" I finished, amused. If we were to converse through naught but plays and stories, then he would find I was well prepared for the part.

"Not many people know that play." He sounded surprised. Almost reverent.

"I am not many people," I said simply, as if it were a profound statement rather than a modest truth.

"I will never forget that again." He bowed his head, the perfect imitation of courtly decorum. It made me laugh. "I can't thank you enough for helping me tonight."

"You can't?" I grinned. "Well, that's a shame. How much can you thank me?"

I meant it as a joke, of course. What I had done for him — the thing I couldn't even begin to explain — I would have done again. In a heartbeat. For him, but also for me. It was as if he had granted me the courage to do what I'd always wanted but had been too afraid to seek. To sing on that stage. But at my words, his eyes seemed to flash a darker shade of green. And then he reached up, without hesitation, and unpinned his talent pipes from the collar of his cloak.

"Only this much." And he held them out to me. His hand unwavering.

"I . . ." I hesitated, a million thoughts swirling through my mind. I thought of him, down on the stage below. Pouring his heart into the music that moved him. The broken string. His unwavering belief the Aloine would appear. What it all must have cost him. And the talent was surely the least of it. "You can't be serious."

"Without you, I wouldn't have won them." He was so sure. So insistent.

"I don't think you can give away your pipes…"

"I can, actually. Stanchion mentioned if I lost them or gave them away, I'd have to earn another set." He took my hand, gently uncurling my fingers before placing the silver pin in my palm. "That means I can do with them as I please, and it pleases me to give them to you."

I was silent then, feeling the shape of the cool metal against my hand. _Talent pipes._ With these pinned to my dress, I could step into near any establishment within a hundred miles and find a patron. The mere sight of them would make me more desirable than my looks. _Than my sex._ That little pin was big enough to hold the entire world I dreamed of. And was it unearned?

He spoke as if they belonged to me. As if _I_ had been the one to win them on that stage when I had done nothing but lend him my voice.

I looked at him then, really looked at him. My eyes tracing the contours of his face. The edges of his cloak. The fire burning in his eyes. He could earn his pipes again, could earn them without me. _I didn't have that luxury._

But how could I possibly take them?

I had taken so many things from so many men. Things that were offered, and those that weren't. Had thought of them so little, that most were lost to memory. They had meant nothing, aside from the coin they put in my purse. But Kvothe was different. Even if he had left, too. He had _seen_ me. And I saw him. The same cloak he'd worn then, threadbare now. His shirt, patched in two places. Shoes scuffed to bits.

I glanced down again, slowly closing my hand around the pipes. They weighed more than I could carry.

"I think you might be a wonderful person," I whispered, looking up at him again. "However, this is too great a thanks. More payment than is appropriate for any help I've given you. I would end up in your debt." And I slipped the pipes back into his hand.

"I would rather have you beholden to me." I smiled. "This way you still owe me a favor."

He didn't argue. And the conversation that followed was sweet and light. I expressed my shock that he had let his entire trial hang on the chance of an Aloine waiting in the wings. And he, in turn, stated his surprise that I had only heard the song twice before. But it wasn't really the sort of song you could forget, despite my reservations. And I _had_ just heard it, off in Aetnia.

But it didn't matter what words were exchanged. What was spoken. That he never once called me anything but Aloine, and I couldn't tell if he remembered me, or the night we'd spent beneath the stars. I had been _so certain_ when our eyes met and I nearly stumbled into his arms. The pull so strong between us. How could anything do that, but memory?

Still, he acted as if I were a lady. A stranger. But why should he know me, after all? There was nothing extraordinary about me. Nothing _worth_ remembering. For all the impressions he had made on me with his words and with his music, I had only ever been a passenger. Just a breath of wind on the road.

I decided that was all right. All that mattered now was that he was here beside me. And for the first time in months, the four corners felt right. The ground balanced. Steady. And the conversation between us was easy, like a river flowing. It could have lasted all night. It would have, I think, had Sovoy not returned.

And even then, even with him there beside us and I as his lady of the evening, my attentions slipped past him, to Kvothe. And it didn't matter that somehow they _did_ know each other from The University. That perhaps there were boundaries between them I shouldn't cross. But my heart was full. And Kvothe spoke in phrases of story and pieces of song, and I responded in kind. Our conversation dancing between us. Sovoy on the sidelines, forgotten. The spaces between us fuller than anything that I had ever known.

And then he spoke the painful truth I'd wished I wouldn't hear. Confirming the suspicions that had begun to grow in my heart as our words spun gossamer webs around us. "The reason my heart is so heavy is that I fear I might never know your name."

He didn't remember me after all.

It hurt, I couldn't deny that. But I had been hurt before, and my mask never slipped. This time, I was his Aloine. And Tehlu hold me, I would make sure he did not forget that.

"Dianne," I whispered in his ear. Because Sovoy was beside me, and I was Dianne now. And the Denna he'd once known was gone. Most days I could no longer find her myself.

He was silent. The pause so long it sent shivers down my arms. And cracks streaked across the surface my confidence _. Did he remember Denna after all?_ Would he think me a liar, call me out as such here and now? And all before Sovoy. And why, then… Why...

_Was he a liar too?_

"Well?" I asked, my voice steady, unconcerned despite my dry lips.

"I have it. As sure as I know my own."

"Say it then," I insisted. _Say it._ _Before my world breaks._

"I am saving it." He was smiling. It was not the smile of a man who was staring into a lie. "Gifts like these should not be squandered."

I said nothing. My heart beating silently, painfully.

"Dianne," he said at last. "Dianne. It suits you."

I held his gaze and he held mine. His eyes unreadable. And then he glanced away, abruptly pushing himself back from the table. Suddenly burning to leave, when he had been so insistent to stay.

"I should get back downstairs. I've got important people to meet."

Sovoy rose just as abruptly, hurrying to shake Kvothe's hand.

"Well done tonight, Kvothe. I'll be seeing you." He sounded pleased, though I caught the undertone of relief beneath the words. The unspoken warning, which rang so clearly to my trained ears. _Do not steal my woman._ As if I were his to take. To _keep_.

"I hope to see you too," I added quickly, standing as well. I offered him my hand in parting, and he shook it. Quickly. He did not kiss it, as he had done just an hour before. And then he vanished, melting into the shadows that wrapped the third tier like velvet.

And I couldn't help but wonder, as I settled back down at the table — which felt so empty now without him — was it Sovoy's gaze he had been running from?

Or was it mine?


	27. All that Finding

Things with Sovoy fizzled out quickly enough. Having seen Kvothe, truly _knowing_ that he was just across the river, _a mere mile away_ , made it impossible to maintain the lie I had woven. And the more Sovoy clung to me, the harder I pushed him away.

He was loath to let me go. He sent me gifts. Rolls of scripted poetry. _Roses_. He showed up at the Silver Shack, where I had taken rooms, and enquired after me for days. It was enough for me to abandon my rooms and vanish, stealing off to Tarbean under the cover of darkness. I stayed for nearly a span, hoping that was long enough for Sovoy to forget me and stop searching for my face.

But I could only stay away for so long. My mind, which had been so successful with putting thoughts of Kvothe aside when I had settled in Anilin, was now overwhelmed with fond imaginings of him. And all the entanglements I tried to weave in his absence fell painfully short. Suitors. Potential patrons. All failures. My heart wasn't in it. So I returned, and sought out Kvothe at last.

After making several careful inquiries, I learned that he had taken up residence at a small inn and tavern called Anker's across the river, where he was employed as the house musician. I hadn't ever been to Anker's before; I had barely ventured across the river, into the sprawling complex I called University Town. But as I'd already told him that night in the Eolian, Aloine would do the finding this time.

* * *

Anker's was not what I expected. It was lively, packed and bright — abuzz with a hundred conversations. A bit low class, but not so much that it felt unsafe. The majority of the crowd appeared to be students from The University. It seemed a bit of an odd choice for someone with Kvothe's skills, who could have likely secured a position in many of the nicer inns around. But perhaps he liked the simplicity of this place. The roughly hewn wooden tables. The enthusiastic singing of the crowd, threaded together by the sounds of his lute. It wasn't the sort of place pretending to be anything else. I decided it said a fair bit about his character.

I watched him for nearly an hour from one of the tables in the back as he played his way through drinking songs and ballads. Through fast jigs that made the drunker patrons dance. I was enthusiastically singing along to _Drover's Daughters_ with the crowd when I happened to catch his eye at last. I waved, grinning, and he seemed so surprised to see me that he fumbled through the closing of the song, the melody falling away in a jumble of disjointed notes. The crowd laughed and cheered and booed in equal measure, and Kvothe hopped off the hearth and made his way over to me.

"I'd heard you were playing on this side of the river," I said, rising to greet him. "But I can't imagine how you keep the job if you fall apart every time a girl gives you a wink."

He flushed slightly, his cheeks reddening to clash spectacularly with his hair." It doesn't happen that often."

"The winking or the falling apart?" I teased. The question seemed to embarrass him further, so I abandoned the pestering. "How long will you be playing tonight?"

"Not much longer."

I smiled. "Good. Come away with me afterward, I need someone to walk with."

He hurried away, finding his spot before the fire once again before leading the room into a hearty rendition of _Tinker Tanner_ , the world's favorite drinking song. The crowd went wild as soon as he struck the opening chords, and he lifted his hands from the lute, clapping out the rhythm instead. Within minutes, every person in the room except for me was pounding out the tune in a thundering, clapping roar.

He sang a couple verses, inviting everyone to join in on the chorus. And then he stepped up beside a table, gesturing at them to sing the third verse on their own. A young man obliged, and then the room broke into the chorus again. Soon enough, the entire room seemed to be vying for a spot to fill a verse of their own. The song had left Kvothe behind; had become a living, breathing thing that belonged to not a single person, but the entire room and everyone in it.

Sensing he was about to make his escape, I slipped over to the door and waited for him to join me. Then we stepped out into the falling dusk.

"That was cleverly done," I commented, walking lightly beside him. "How long do you think they'll keep it up?"

"That will all depend on how quickly Anker manages to pull down drinks." He came to a sudden stop at the edge of a shadowed alley. "If you will excuse me a moment, I have to put my lute away."

"In an alley?"

"In my room." Before I could take a breath, he was climbing the side of the building. Jumping from window ledges to drainpipes. Effortlessly as a cat. He reached the first roof and hopped across the alley entirely to the roof of the bakery. The back again. I gasped. He reappeared moments later, his lute safely hidden away, and slipped back down to join me on the ground.

"Does Anker charge a penny every time you use his stairs?" I asked, a little shaken. The joke of it helped push the thought of the last time I had climbed down a drainpipe aside.

"I come and go at odd hours," he said, wiping his hands as he joined me again. "Am I correct in understanding that you are looking for a gentleman to walk with you tonight?"

I smiled, relaxing again. "Quite."

"That is unfortunate. I am no gentleman."

"I think that you are close enough."

"I would like to be closer."

"Then come walking with me," I insisted.

"It would please me greatly. However… what about Sovoy?"

I frowned, glancing sideways at him. He looked rather serious. _Sovoy._ Had he talked of me to Kvothe? I hoped not. "He's staked a claim on me then?"

"Well, not as such," he admitted. "But there are certain protocols involved…"

"A gentleman's agreement?" I said sarcastically. Had he been any other man, I knew he would have never bothered to ask. But he _wasn't_ , and that was part of what drew me to him with such intensity. Now, it dampened my anger.

"More like honor among thieves, if you will."

I turned, my eyes meeting his. I held his gaze. "Kvothe. Steal me."

And he did.

The walk to Imre had never taken so long. We strolled for hours, exchanging sweet words and stories. He asked of Sovoy, and I admitted I hadn't seen him for ages, and that I had refuted his efforts to chase me down. I told him of my disdain for the roses he chose to shower me with. _Every_ man chose roses. Always red. Always perfect. Always reminding me of the one night I wished to forget… though I didn't tell him that.

"What flower would you pick for me?" I asked him.

He didn't have a simple answer, but rather an entire list.

"Dandelion might be good," he suggested. "It is bright, and there is a brightness about you. But dandelion is common, and you are not a common creature."

He considered nightshade. Nettle. "Perhaps," he called it, and I pretended to be outraged.

"Except for your tongue it doesn't suit you," he agreed, before moving on to "Wild oat!"

I laughed at his enthuthiasm.

"Daisy is a good one," he mused. "Tall and slender, willing to grow by roadsides. A hearty flower, not too delicate. Daisy is self-reliant. I think it might suit you…"

Growing by the roadside. Self-reliant. _Yes, that suited me._ Still, he moved on before I could object. "But let us continue in our list. Iris? Too gaudy. Thistle, too distant. Violet, too brief. Trillium? Hmmm, there's a thing. A fair flower. Doesn't take to cultivation. The texture of the petals…" He turned to me abruptly, brushing two fingers gently along the side of my neck. I shivered.

"Smooth enough to match your skin," he said softly. "Just barely. But it is too close to the ground."

"This is quite a bouquet you've brought for me," I managed, after catching my breath. I found myself bringing a hand to my neck, where his fingers had grazed my skin. The touch lingered still, warmer than the late summer night.

He stopped, turning to face me.

"Selas flower."

"All this and you pick a flower I don't know?" I said softly. "What is a selas flower? Why?"

"It is a deep red flower that grows on a strong vine. Its leaves are dark and delicate. They grow best in shadowy places, but the flower itself finds stray sunbeams to bloom in." His eyes held mine. "That suits you. There is much of you that is both shadow and light. It grows in deep forests, and is rare because only skilled folk can tend one without harming it. It has a wondrous smell and is much sought and seldom found." His eyes stared into mine, his gaze penetrating. "Yes, since I am forced to pick, I would choose selas."

"You think too much of me," I said softly, glancing away.

"Perhaps you think too little of yourself."

I looked up again to see that he was smiling gently. I tried to smile back, though the motion felt forced. "You were closer early in your list. Daisies, simple and sweet. Daisies are the way to win my heart."

He had already won it without them.

Hours more passed before we finally found our way to the Oaken Oar, where I had taken rooms. We spent hours sitting on the ancient stone bridge that crossed the Omethi River, speaking of songs. Of small nothings. Our hands so close they nearly touched. The air between us charged. Like lightning. We wandered slowly along the road, stopping at the park outside of town. And all the while we talked. We laughed. We sang softly, my voice twining with his before fading into the rustling of trees around us. It was like that night, out in the clearing beneath the stars. I thought, perhaps, he'd remember. But he said nothing… and so neither did I.

When we finally reached the Oaken Oar, he saw me to the doorway. We stood there, staring intently at each other. The night seemed to swell around us, the air, the wind, all of it pressing close as if in anticipation. The tension building between us. I stared into his eyes, and I imagined how his lips would feel against mine. What a kiss was like when it was wanted. I couldn't remember. Perhaps I had never really known.

For a moment, I thought I saw the same desire mirrored in his eyes. The nearly imperceptible tilt of his head shifting closer. If only he had kissed me then. How different it might have been. But before we could draw closer, he stepped away, offering nothing but a "Goodnight." He was sweet. Polite. His intentions veiled as ever. And then he was gone, just a shadow fading into night.

Perhaps it didn't even matter. Even if Kvothe had been beside me, I'm sure I would have gone off with Ash all the same.

* * *

When I awoke next morning, it was to find that a permanent smile had etched itself across my face while I slept. And my thoughts were full of him. Whirling in my head, as if they had been waiting for me to abandon my slumber.

We had connected the previous night. We had talked for _hours_. And disappointed though I was by our parting, I sensed a closeness with him still. Something undeniable, that I was sure neither he nor I could ignore. And I knew where he was staying now, had seen the proof of it with my own eyes. _I could find him again._ And that meant everything.

Still, before I could seek out Kvothe again, I had to do something about my thinning purse. The choices were fairly limited. I could go to the Eolian and seek out another well-off gentleman. But I didn't want to. And my search for a patron seemed as hopeless as kindling a fire beneath a heavy rain. Which left only one option.

An hour later, I brushed my hand against the rough doorframe of the pawn shop. The wood was cracked in places, the light blue paint starting to peel off. Several distinct markings were carved into the wood, almost as an afterthought. I traced my fingertips lightly along their splintered edges and pushed against the heavy wooden door. It creaked, the sound spilling into the shop along with stray sunlight, backlighting a glorious amount of swirling dust. It was framed between crooked, narrow walkways amongst shelves piled ceiling-high with books, and paintings, and trinkets of glass and clay and porcelain. Then the door shuddered closed behind me, and the shop settled into dimness. The air stale without the crisp breath of early autumn suspended outside.

The proprietor was helping another customer, a squat gentleman with thinning hair, so I waited until they concluded their business and the man stepped outside before approaching the counter.

"Help ya, girly?"

The shop owner didn't look at me as he spoke. Instead, he busied himself with slipping open the glass display which made up the counter. I watched as he carefully placed a necklace inside. A delicate woven thing of rose gold and silver leading to an intricate setting which held a teardrop-shaped pink stone. Kunzite, if I didn't miss my guess.

"I rather think you may," I said.

He glanced up at me, closing the case in one smooth motion. His hands nimble despite the wrinkles that had started to creep across the skin of his arms. He nodded his head in my direction before following my gaze down to the display below.

"Here's a fine selection. Good's any jewelry shop on Luster Street, an' just a fraction of the price."

"Is that so?" I smiled.

"This here piece just brought in by that fine gentleman," he added, pointing to the necklace he'd just slid into the case. "Impeccable workmanship. Metalwork this fine… it's surely a product of the skilled artisans in Modeg."

"It's lovely," I admitted. "But no, I'm not interested."

"Selling then?" His smile turned knowing. "What'll it be? The ring, perhaps? A fine specimen, indeed."

I glanced down, twisting Mother's ring away out of habit, until the stone was hidden within my hand. "Not that ring." I reached into the hidden pocket in the lining of my dress, my fingers closing around cold metal. I laid it on the glass counter. "This one."

"Hmmm."

He inspected it, carefully scrutinizing the twisted metal that made up the band and the pale green stone at its center.

"It's finely done," he said at last. "But the metal's only burnished iron. And this stone's painted glass. I can give ya a copper penny fer it. Bit of a pittance." He shrugged. "But no fool'd pay more than five, I reckon."

"I think the right fool would be willing to pay a bit more." I smiled. "Four talents should do it. I'd be happy to assist. In the luring, you understand?"

He laughed, his blue eyes wrinkling with amusement. " It's 'not so often a pretty girl strolls in 'ere, schemin'."

"Your door did say I was welcome."

"That it did." He looked me up and down, his face serious now. "Done this before, have ya, girly?"

"I have."

"Got yer story straight, then?"

"You worry about your end, and I'll worry about mine."

"Right you are." He glanced down at the ring again before meeting my eyes. "Now, it's an even split. Like it says. Two each."

I nodded. "I expect he'll be along shortly. I'll set the meeting for first thing tomorrow morning. Mind, if he doesn't come today, remove it from the window. If we come together, it's already been sold, all right? I shall act appropriately distressed, of course."

He looked amused. "Yer farce has many levels, girly."

"It's happened before," I said evenly, shrugging. "Only once, but I don't plan to make a habit of taking coin that's given in good faith."

And with that I turned and strode out of the shop, until I found myself blinking in the sunlight. It was deceptively bright.

* * *

I was a mess. Not a true mess, but the sort of mess that appealed to someone of the sterner sex. My eyes were rimmed with red, but only just. My cheeks tearstained. My hair was perfectly lovely, framing my distraught face in all the right ways. I was hovering at the window, my arms holding me together. The reflection in the glass showed me a lovely girl on the verge of tears. Which was exactly the sort of girl I presently wanted to be.

I hovered there for ten minutes before the first gentleman arrived.

"My lady." He drew up beside me. "A fine day to be outside, is it not?"

I turned, blinking tears away. He was a portly man, with a thick mustache and slightly greasy black hair. The buttons of his rich vest strained across his considerable girth, though he looked only ten years my senior. A man who liked his meals and delicacies. He seemed taken aback when he saw my face.

"Whatever is wrong?"

"Oh, sir," I said, my voice breaking. "Oh, I've a terrible dilemma."

He looked profoundly uncomfortable. "Can I… Can I assist you, my lady? I hate to see a lovely girl such as yourself in tears."

I made a show of wiping at my face before brushing my hands along the sides of my simple homespun dress. His eyes followed the motions, lingering in places they didn't belong. "Maybe you can, sir. Maybe you can. You see, I've been horribly taken advantage of."

I blinked rapidly, until more tears welled.

"Whatever happened?"

"You see," I began, "it's about our family farm, sir. We're terribly behind on our taxes. The duke's threatened to take our lands away."

"Ah," he said. "Well, I—"

Oh no, no," I said quickly. "It's nothing like that. I'm not looking for any charity." I smoothed out my dress again. There was a light tinkle of metal from one of my pockets, and I desisted at once. "My parents are working day and night to try and raise the crop, but it isn't enough. So I thought I'd help, you see. I took my grandmother's ring and came to the city to pawn it. It was supposed to be my wedding gift were I to be wed, but the farm's more important, o _f course_."

"Of course," he agreed.

"But I don't know a thing about bargaining myself," I all but wailed. " I'm a respectable girl, sir. I've never _been_ in the city before. And I've messed it all up now."

"Now it's all right," he said uncomfortably.

"It isn't!" My voice rose dramatically, and I let it crack over the words. "You see, I asked a gentleman I met at the market for help. Pawning it. He seemed ever so pleasant. He even bought me a coffee and showed me the gardens. I thought I could trust him! But he just—" I started to cry. "He just pawned it and ran off with the money! There's the ring right there!" I pointed dramatically at the pawn shop window, where the iron ring sat propped up in the display, the glassy stone particularly lustrous in the sunlight hitting the glass. It shone against the dark backdrop of the window.

"I haven't the money to buy it back," I said miserably. "Even though the shop owner's only selling it for _four_ _talents_. It's a travesty. It's an old family heirloom, finely crafted in Modeg, sir. It's worth _at least_ forty."

"Forty talents?" His eyebrows rose.

" _Yes!_ " I nodded. "Oh, my father will whip me bloody when he finds out I've lost it and haven't got a penny in return."

"I do believe I can help you, my lady," he volunteered. "I would be willing to buy the ring. And return it, of course."

"Oh sir!" My eyes lit up. "Would you do that for me? I'd return your four talents right away! And I know if you help me, we can sell it elsewhere for at least twenty. I'd be happy to give you some of the coin. For your kind assistance. I don't think the farm will hurt for a jot or two."

He contemplated me for a moment and I offered my most hopeful smile.

"That is an adequate arrangement," he said finally, his voice agreeable. "I would be more than happy to help you, my lady. Now, logistically, I cannot do it right at this moment, I've run a bit late for a meeting, I'm afraid. And I do not carry such a large sum on me. I would need to visit the bank."

"Of course, of course," I said quickly. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of bursting into that foul shop now in my present state. I must return to my inn and freshen up. And you should be on your way, sir. I've kept you horribly long already when you've been so kind. Would you be willing to meet tomorrow morning so that we can go together? Not too early, of course. Would ten be all right?"

"That will be sufficient. I shall meet you here. At ten tomorrow."

"Until tomorrow then," I said brightly. "Oh, thank you, sir, it means just all the world!" I offered him my best curtsy, smiled, and hurried off until the pawn shop was out of sight.

When I returned at sixth bell, the ring was no longer in the window.

"Has he bought it?" I asked, approaching the proprietor in the dim light. "The greasy man with the horrible orange vest?"

He laughed. "Right as rain, girly. Showed up round second bell an' asked for the ring in the window. Seemed mighty pleased wit' himself. I reckon he won't be meetin' ya tomorrow." He drew out two silver talents and laid them on the counter. "Run along now, 'fore he works up his mind to come back."

"Thank you." I scooped up the coins and smiled. "Pleasure doing business, sir. I hope to see you again in the future."

"Distant future. Dun get yourself in trouble now."

I nodded and hurried out of the shop, darting furtive glances up and down the street. It would have been terribly unlikely for the man to appraise the ring quite so fast, but I didn't breathe easy until there were several streets between me and the pawn shop. When the distance felt sufficient, I settled on a bench in one of Imre's public parks and reached into my pocket, withdrawing its contents. In my palm lay five other such rings, all crafted for me on request by a particularly skilled and honest blacksmith in Tarbean. If I sold two more of them, I would have coin enough to stay in Imre for several span without spending a night with anyone. Tehlu, that was freeing.

I closed my hand into a fist around the rings and smiled. Tomorrow, I would find another pawn shop. There was still time enough tonight to stop by the Eolian and see if I couldn't just run into Kvothe.

* * *

Over the next two days, I relocated the other rings to the pockets of two exceptionally greedy gentlemen who were more than happy to take advantage of a sobbing girl in need. Both exchanges had gone off smoothly, leaving me with ample coin to enjoy Imre. The only thing dampening my mood was Kvothe. That is, his lack thereof.

I had not been able to find him at the Eolian on either of my three trips, nor at Anker's when I came looking. As if the sprawling complex of The University had swallowed him whole. It was no matter, though. For once, I had the luxury of time stretching out ahead of me, untarnished by the looming promise of an unpleasant evening. All the time in the world.

On the third day, I thought looking for a patron might prove a more prosperous venture than looking for Kvothe. I wasn't sure why, as I'd had no luck with either, but I picked myself up, dressed my face, and headed for the Taps.

It was a dim tavern, full of cracked and peeling tables, and old men half-gone with drink. No Eolian, to be sure. But there was a small stage, which could be graced by anyone. An old man with a cloud of white hair sat there playing a half-harp when I arrived, so I ordered an ale and settled down at a small corner table. It wasn't my drink of choice, but it wasn't the sort of place where one simply ordered wine. Especially the strawberry kind.

I let the hours carry me along, lending my voice to every song that swept into the crowd. My words clear and bright above the rumble of fifty drunken men. I spoke with two separate men and one woman who expressed interest in supporting a singer. I sang for them. Towards evening, bolstered by the courage only alcohol can lend, I climbed onto the stage myself and belted out _Pennywhistle_ for the entire tavern to hear. They clapped appreciatively. The old man with the half-harp joined me midway with an accompaniment. The woman requested a meeting at noon next day. She was the only daughter of a silk merchant, and thought she'd rather like having me along when they next left for Ralien, both for my music and my company. I wasn't sure that a trip to Ralien was what I wanted, but it was the closest I'd come to finding a patron in span. Even if I didn't come along for the journey, meeting with Klare and her merchant father could well improve my prospects. When I left the Taps, I could hardly contain my grin.

I was three streets from the Oaken Oar when I felt the cold, prickling feeling stealing down the back of my neck. The one that whispers of warning.

I was being watched.

I quickened my step, darting nervous glances down the dimly lit streets when I could afford them. There were still people milling about. Students out on the town. Men standing in corners with cheap whores who charged a ha'penny a throw. Songs spilled out from open doors and windows to clash in the late summer air, which smelled of beer and bread and garbage. It took me several moments to spot him. But once I saw the thin profile, there was no mistaking it.

It was Stephan. The second man to whom I had sold the ring two days past. He had stopped by the shop to buy it a mere hour past our initial meeting. Barely long enough for the tears I'd put on for him to dry. I had collected three full talents from that exchange. And now he was here, halfway across town. _Stalking me._ My feet moved faster, the sudden adrenaline burning away the tipsy lightness the ale had left behind.

The Oaken Oar was just ahead. Safety. I could hide inside. But what good would that do?

I slipped past the door without pause, not sparing it so much as a glance. Down to the end of the street. Left. Left again. All the while, he kept pace with me. Half a street away, but if I strained my ears, I could hear the distinctive clomp of his heavy leather boots. The only reason he hadn't grabbed me yet was because he'd chosen not to.

There was a small backalley on my left. I cut into it and ran, my breath heaving. Past piles of trash and garden exits, until I reached the fenced door halfway through. I darted inside, forcing it closed behind me. This small yard belonged to a bakery. I ran, skirting round the building. Pushing expertly through the bushes that lined its sides and facade. I didn't slow down as I darted across the road, narrowly avoiding two men who stood there with mugs of ale in hand. Another yard stretched ahead, this one belonging to a tavern with doors thrown wide open. I slipped inside, making my way quickly through the taproom. Past the tables and bar and the calls of a hundred drunken men, and out through the door that led to the fenced in yard. Which, from past ventures, I knew exited to another alley. The door was usually unlocked, and tonight was no exception. I slipped into the quiet alley and turned left again, finding my way back to the main road. And then I was out on the cobblestoned street once more, people milling around me.

I walked quickly, trying to reign in my gasping breaths. Forcing my feet to an even pace when they yearned to run. I would _not_ draw undue attention. Not when my dress was already light enough to catch the glow of every light.

Two more streets, and I found myself at the Oaken Oar's door once again. The only sounds at my back were distant revelry and soft laughter. He was gone. A quick glance confirmed it. I breathed a sigh of relief and stepped into its warm interior. There was a fire cracking pleasantly in the grate, below the two intercrossed oars that hung above the mantel. Sympathy lamps and candlesticks stood on every shelf and table, the latter flickering invitingly. The lights danced across the stained glass windows that lined the western wall.

I was halfway to the stairs when the inkeep called out to me.

"Ah, Dinnah. I have a message for you."

I turned, smoothing my hair as I approached the counter. "What is it?"

Frasel shrugged and lifted a folded piece of parchment.

 _Kvothe._ _It had to be._ My heart rose. I hadn't found him, but he had come to call. He'd searched me out at last.

I took the thick slip of parchment with a nod of thanks, my fingers working at the seal. It was stuck so firmly to the vellum, it took me a near minute to pry it off. Or perhaps it was simply the excited tremble of my fingers, though they shook for naught. The note did not contain heartfelt greetings.

_Little bitch. I will kill you and throw your body to the city guards. And they will thank me for it._

I felt the blood drain from my face. My heart was suddenly pounding against my ribcage, so violently I feared it would burst. I choked on a steadying breath, crumpling the parchment in a fist to keep my hand from shaking.

"Who left this?" I was shocked at how steady my voice sounded.

Frasel shrugged again, his face scrunching up in irritation. "Older gentleman. Dark haired. Fine silks."

"Was he thin with a goatee?" I managed.

"Might have had, at that."

"When did he leave this?"

"Don't know," he said gruffly. "I've got an inn to run here. I can't keep track of every—"

I thrust a hand into my pocket, my fingers closing around the cool metal of a coin. I slammed it on the counter. " _When?_ "

"Round eighth bell, I reckon. Is that all now?"

I nodded mutely, letting go of the coin. Frasel slid it across the counter and into his palm. It was a full silver penny. I didn't care. _Eighth bell_. Just over two hours ago. Stephan had already _been_ here. I couldn't fathom how he'd found me.

I cast a glance around the room again, which felt far colder now, and hurried for the stairs without another word. The weight of my door behind me felt reassuring. But what good would it do? Behind the heavy curtains that framed the glass, I could see his thin form standing in the shadows across the road. His features impossible to make out across the dark and distance, but I imagined his burning eyes trained on me through the window glass.

Was this a game to him? Was there murder in his heart? It shocked me that he would risk his freedom for a mere six talents. A fortune to me, but, surely, nothing to him. But then again, it was hardly a risk, was it? I was no one, after all. I had no name. No family. He must have realized it. If he killed me, there would be no one to speak on my behalf. And he, with all his money and stature… he would never hang for it. Not for killing a thieving whore. I had been with rich men. Had seen the difference money made. I wasn't fool enough to think it could be different.

I allowed myself a moment then, for the tears to gather in my eyes. For them to slide down my cheeks and leave dark stains upon the carpeted floor. It was so hard. Everything. _And Tehlu, I was so tired of it all._ Just when I thought I'd found a foothold… _Just when I'd found Kvothe._

But there was no time for tears. There was only another man who meant to do me harm, and no question of the road that lay before me. No time for second chances or goodbyes.

It took only minutes to collect everything. I had packed my things in the dark so many times, I could do it by touch alone. And when it was done, there was another back staircase waiting for me. Another door that led to another alley that was mercifully empty and led to somewhere far away and nowhere all at once. My life was a series of broken doors and back alleys by then. A journey that stretched on and on with no destination ever in road paved with empty promises and unspoken goodbyes.

And that was the only road for someone like me. The only proper road… for a whore.

I was gone from Imre long before the sun rose to light up its cobblestone streets. I watched it settle into the sky from the back of yet another wagon, bound north, imagining how the light would stretch across the empty streets and plazas. How it would glisten across the surface of the Omethi. How the fountains would sparkle beneath it. The Oar's stained glass windows, too. It would reach through the glass, steal into the empty rooms I'd left behind.

Empty rooms where Kvothe would never find me.

Empty rooms were all I had to give.


	28. Fire and Ash

By the time I returned to Imre, summer's last traces had started to fade, the season's last flowers wilting before autumn's cool chill. And even then, it wasn't long enough. Months would have been safer. I could have remained in Astrain until winter. Or taken a coach down to Tarbean. But there was a yearning in my chest I couldn't quite explain. To find Kvothe again. And even without him, I found it difficult to leave Imre behind. To go months without stepping foot in the Eolian. When was it, that it had become the closest thing to home I'd ever known?

I was careful. My accommodations at the Swan and Swale were distantly removed from the Oaken Oar. The neighborhood respectable, but not rich. Not the sort a man like Stephan would choose to frequent. And the Eolian was only a short distance away. As was the Omethi… and the road to The University. But I wouldn't make the trek unless I had to. The Eolian was a far easier place to start.

It was Chaen evening when I greeted Deoch at the door. He welcomed me warmly, smiling as he complimented my dress. It was dark green this time, and hung artfully off my shoulders.

"I'm looking for someone," I said, offering him a hug. "You wouldn't happen to have seen my Savien as of late?"

"Kvothe, you mean?" He let out a booming laugh. "Why, he just so happens to be right there."

He pointed into the crowd. Following him, my eyes fell upon Kvothe, who was looking up at me from several tables away where he sat with two other men. I grinned. His face, too, broke into a smile and he waved me over.

"Thanks!" I told Deoch brightly.

"Always, Dyanae. Or is it Dianne, now?"

I laughed. "Frankly, I'm not sure."

Deoch winked at me, and I made my way through the crowd. Kvothe and the others with him rose to greet me. One was a sunny haired Aturan. The other a bearded Ceald. More boys than men.

"I was hoping to find you here," I said, smiling. And Kvothe offered a bow in return.

"I was hoping to be found. These are two of my best friends. Simmon." The Aturan boy smiled and brushed his hair away from his eyes. "And Wilem." The Ceald nodded at me. "This is Dianne."

I joined them at the table, dropping into one of the empty chairs. "What brings such a group of handsome young men out on the town tonight?"

"We're plotting the downfall of our enemies," Simmon said.

"And celebrating," Kvothe clarified.

Wilem raised his glass in a salute. "Confusion to the enemy."

Simmon and Kvothe raised their glasses as well. Then Kvothe paused. "I'm sorry. Can I buy you a drink?"

"I was hoping you would buy me dinner," I said, feeling profoundly brazen. "But I would feel guilty about stealing you away from your friends."

"You're making the assumption that we want him here," Wilem said, very seriously. "You'd do us a favor if you took him away."

I decided he must be joking, though I couldn't tell at all. I rather liked him. I grinned, feeling the smile reach all the way across my cheeks. " _Really?_ "

Wilem nodded gravely. "He drinks even more than he talks."

I shot Kvothe an amused glance. "That much?"

"Besides," Simmon added brightly. "He'd sulk for days if he missed a chance to be with you. He'll be completely worthless to us if you leave him here."

I laughed at that, an odd weightlessness stealing through me. Buoyed by the innocent honesty of Simmon 's words and by the blush that crept across Kvothe's face, validating them.

"I suppose I'd better take him then."

I rose, offering Kvothe my hand. He took it, his skin warm against mine.

"I hope to see you again, Wilem, Simmon," I said before pulling Kvothe away. He kept pace with me easily. "I like them," I added softly. "Wilem is a stone in deep water. Simmon is like a boy splashing in a brook."

He laughed. "I couldn't have said it better. You mentioned dinner?"

"I lied," I said. I was feeling incredibly giddy about the whole thing now that he was walking beside me, his hand on mine. "But I would love the drink you offered me."

"How about the Taps?"

Tehlu blacken, I wasn't going anywhere near _that_ place. Much, much too close to the Oaken Oar. "Too many old men," I said, keeping my fear in check. "Not enough trees. It is a good night to be out of doors." _Somewhere Stephan would not go wandering._

"Lead the way," Kvothe offered. And I did, pulling him along behind me.

We bought a loaf of rye bread and a bottle of my favorite Avennish strawberry wine before settling in one of Imre's public parks. The night was cool, and lovely for it. The air thick with the scent of autumn, and the stone paths strewn with fallen leaves. They danced around us as we walked. And as we stepped onto the grass, I slipped out of my shoes and let the leaves crunch beneath my feet, reveling in the cool feel of them against my skin.

There, on the grass beneath the hanging canopy of a willow weeping fall, we shared our bread and wine and spoke of small nothings. Of songs and the turnings of music. Of his exploits with Wilem and Simmon at The University. Of the good fortune a patron could bring. Until the minutes turned to hours and hours and hours. And then, as night fell thickest, he fell quiet. Gazing somewhere past me. Past the willow. Past the night.

"Your eyes were far away just then," I said softly. "What were you thinking?"

He shrugged, turning to glance at me again."One of the masters at the University once told me that there were seven words that would make a woman love you. I was just wondering what they were."

"Is that why you talk so much?" I smiled, hardly able to contain the leaping feeling in my chest. "Hoping to come on them by accident?"

_Didn't he know it mattered not what the words were? Only their rhythm was important. Their heartbeat. And he'd already…_

He glanced at me, his cheeks tinting to red. Almost like a lady bursting to defend her honor. I laid a hand on his arm, smiling gently. "Don't go quiet on my account, Kvothe. I'd miss the sound of your voice."

I glanced away, reaching for the bottle of wine. Bringing it to my lips as I searched within its depth for courage. He didn't remember. There was no point in it. But the words were dancing in my chest now, threatening to burst free. I couldn't contain them.

"Anyway, you shouldn't bother wondering," I said softly, glancing down at the bottle. My gaze stayed firmly fixed to the tinted glass. "You spoke them to me when first we met… You said, 'I was just wondering why you're here.'" I shrugged lightly. "From that moment I was yours."

When he replied, his voice was strained. "I didn't think you remembered."

And my heart soared then, relief swirling with confusion. "Remember what?" I asked carefully, pressing him.

"Remembered me. Remembered our meeting in Roent's caravan."

"Come now," I managed, my voice light enough to not betray the frantic fluting of my heart. "How could I forget the red-haired boy who left me for The University?"

My eyes searched his face, and his traced mine in return.

"You never mentioned it."

"Neither did you," I countered. "Perhaps I thought that _you_ had forgotten me."

"Forget you? How could I?"

I smiled softly, glancing down at my hands. "You might be surprised what men forget." It was a sad road. One I wished to forget as well. I stepped back, pushing myself away from its edge. "But then again, perhaps not. I don't doubt that you've forgotten things, being a man yourself."

"I remember your name, _Denna_. Why did you take a new one? Or was Denna just the name that you were wearing on the road to Anilin?"

"Denna," I said softly, and felt her smile beside me. "I'd almost forgotten her. She was a silly girl."

"She was like a flower unfolding." His voice was barely a whisper in the wind.

 _She was._ She was sweet and pure and perfect. And what would she think of the person I'd become?

"I stopped being Denna years ago, it seems." Denna. Denna's sister. These days, I was neither. I was no one that Denna had ever known. I felt cold again, the chill of it seeping into my bones, as if my skin were made of paper. It was the same cold I'd known for as long as I had walked without them. I glanced around the empty park, rubbing my hands absently along my arms. How many ghosts stood in those shadows?

"Should I call you Dianne, then? Would you like it better?"

His voice brought me back. And the park was just a park again. The cold chill only that of the wind. And the warmth of Kvothe's skin beside me, softer than anything I'd ever known.

"You are kind." He was more than that. He was warmth and the fire that held it. And I could never brave it as myself. The truth would douse it out. "I think I like Denna best from you," I whispered. "It sounds different when you say it. Gentle."

Hopeful. _Like a flower unfolding._

"Denna it is."

I smiled. If I closed my eyes, I could just see the shadow of her face. Feel the weight of her heart. I would be lost without her.

"What happened in Anilin, anyway?" Kvothe asked softly.

I glanced away, my smile fading, and brushed a leaf from my hair. I watched it drift down to the cool grass. "Nothing pleasant. But nothing unexpected either."

"Well, I'm glad you made it back," he said lightly, reaching out a hand for the loaf. I handed it to him. "My Aloine."

I snorted, the laughter pushing the memories away. "Please, if either of us is Savien, it's me. I'm the one that came looking for you. Twice."

"I look," he protested. "I just don't seem to have a knack for finding you."

I rolled my eyes in a most dramatic fashion. Though it pleased me. _Had he stopped by the Oar after all?_

"If you could recommend an auspicious time and place to look for you, it would make a world of difference…" he said, tilting his head in question. "Perhaps tomorrow?"

I smiled, studying the lines of his face. The way his eyes burned as they looked into mine. The questions swirling there, most unspoken. "You're always so cautious. I've never known a man to step so carefully… I expect noon would be an auspicious time tomorrow. At the Eolian."

And with the promise of our next meeting settled, I eased into the comfort of his company. Our words cutting through night's darkness and sheltering us from the chill wind. His hand occasionally brushed mine, briefly and lightly as the falling leaves. The wine warm between us. And our words trembling with hopes we were too afraid to voice. Through it all, the blazing promise of tomorrow.

I never imagined that he wouldn't show.

* * *

I waited nearly an hour at the Eolian. It was a long time, and with each passing moment the hope inside me faded just a little bit more. The minutes smothering me in disappointment. Still, I would have waited longer if _he_ hadn't shown.

Ash, Kvothe called him. Though his real name… but it doesn't matter. I doubt it's the one I know. And Ash suits him just fine. Almost better. Perhaps it's the way his very soul seems to burn when he looks at me. As if there isn't one there at all. That's how it felt last night, when he hit me. When he beat me bloody and left me on the outskirts of the farm. My vision was flickering then, but I still remember the blue tint of the flames. The heavy smell of blood weighing down the air. The way the screams still seemed to be fading into the night. Which didn't make sense, did it? It was all done, wasn't it? They were all dead. He had said so. But I was halfway gone already, teetering on the edge of the black. And likely all I heard was the wind.

It was in the Eolian that I met him. The day that Kvothe didn't show. The day of the fire, though I didn't learn of it till later. How odd that a fire should keep Kvothe away while Master Ash would appear and set my world to burning.

* * *

He was an older gentleman. White-haired and thin, with a pale, narrow face and eyes so dark they were nearly the color of coal. He carried himself well, despite the cane he leaned on. His clothes were fine, well-embroidered. His very bearing breathed money.

"I do believe Tehlu has smiled upon me," he'd said by way of greeting, settling down into the chair opposite me. I felt a flash of cold anxiety, but I pushed it away. It wasn't the first time a man had sat himself beside me. I had already turned away two in the past hour alone.

He leaned his cane against the table and smiled, his teeth straight and white and perfect. "I didn't think I'd come upon the chance to see you again. Wherever have you been hiding, my dear?"

"I'm sorry?" I said uneasily, my eyes sliding to the handle of his cane, which was set with several blue jewels. I forced my gaze away, meeting his eyes instead. "I don't believe we've been introduced."

"Of course," he said. "Of course. Daft of me. I know of _you_ , my dear, but I daresay you know nothing of me."

I offered him a careful, guarded smile. "And what is it you know, sir?"

"Ahh, I have heard you sing," he said easily. "Just here, with that young man. As Aloine. _The Lay of Sir Savien Traliard, wasn't it?_ Quite a ballad, quite a ballad." He leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. "And your voice, my dear, was like the first drop of rain gracing parched ground."

"Thank you," I said, taken back. And the smile I offered him was an easier one.

"Such a lovely voice." He leaned back in his chair, looking me over. "Such fire. Such luck, that I should run into you today. I've been hoping to for quite some time." His dark eyes met mine, his look so piercing it was near uncomfortable. "Is it true, my dear, that you're looking for a patron?"

"Yes."

I was almost not aware of responding. The way the word slipped out of me, it was as if someone else had spoken it. Somewhere in my chest, my heart sped up, pounding in rhythm against my ribcage. I forced myself to smile, unsure why I was suddenly so nervous.

"Yes," I repeated, with intent now. "I am."

His mouth curved into a smile, wide enough to display his perfect teeth. "Well, my dear, that is wondrous news indeed. It so happens, I'm in search of a musician."

"A singer?" I asked, all but holding my breath.

He shrugged with careless abandon, the tips of his white hair brushing the fine fabric of his shirt. "A singer. A songwriter. A harpist, perhaps. A jack of all trades, if you must. Do you play as well?"

"Just a bit," I said truthfully. "But I'm a quick study, sir. I can learn to play anything, should you ask it of me."

He let out a delightful laugh. "Such enthusiasm. Would you show me?"

"Here?" I asked, glancing around.

"Of course not." His eyes twinkled in amusement. "We wouldn't want someone to steal you away, now would we?" He rose, taking hold of his cane once more. "I know of just the place. Will you walk with me?"

"I…" My eyes flicked briefly to the door. Save for Deoch, it was empty.

"Are you waiting for a better engagement, my dear?" My gentleman friend cocked his head, watching me. "I wouldn't like to hold you up."

"No," I said. "No, I'm all yours."

I stood, offering him a curtsy. He smiled once again.

"Lovely. Whatever are you called, my dear?"

"Denna," I said firmly.

He smiled. "Are you, now? Delightful."

"And you, sir?" I asked, following him to the door. "What shall I call you?"

"I shall tell you," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "When you have earned it." He chuckled and resumed his trek to the door.

I wasn't sure what to say to that, so I simply followed him out into the courtyard, my palms slightly sticky with sweat. I calmed myself down by reminding myself about the knife strapped to my hip. It was still daylight. And should this venture turn sour, I wasn't helpless.

He stopped before the fountain and turned to me. Behind him, the water danced and glittered; the sun crashing against it almost blinding.

"But for now," he said, "I shall give you a name. If you must call me something. It would be best, my dear Denna, if you did not repeat it." And he leaned closer, whispering a name into my ear. Much like Kvothe had done a few short span ago. I barely heard it over the rushing of the water.

"Now then, off we are." And he stepped away from me and strode off, hurrying out of the courtyard so gracefully his cane seemed merely an afterthought. I bit my lip, and followed.

* * *

Many of the gentlemen I had known were prone to little oddities. They believed Tehlu himself had granted them the wealth and power to tower over common folk. They bought out entire restaurants because they wished to remove an offensive item from the menu. They kept exotic pets that were easily capable of murder or mutilation. Once, I had been forced to flee a gentleman's quarters or risk losing several fingers. For all that, Master Ash was the oddest of them all.

For one, he refused to tell me his name, insisting I call him a wide variety of unusual monikers that he changed by the day. For another, I was to mention him to _no one._ He insisted that our meetings were to remain a secret. And odd meetings they were. We would never meet in the same place twice. _Never_ in public. Ever since our initial meeting in the Eolian, he never once set foot in a restaurant, tavern, or pub. We spoke in the dark rooms of inns. Along deserted riverbanks. In the wooded areas of Imre's most private gardens. Some days he would set a meeting and never appear at all, though I would wait for hours. As if he were testing my dedication. My loyalty.

Sometimes the tests were obvious. Once, a woman approached me in the street and offered me money for information about him. I told her nothing, and relayed the encounter to Ash. His smile had grown wide enough to stretch his face upon hearing my words.

"It was but a test," he explained, as if such a thing was perfectly normal. "If we are to work together, I need to know you can be trusted. And you, my dear Denna, have passed."

Two days later, several men cornered me in an alleyway. They pushed me up against the cool bricks, and one held his hands to my throat, so hard that the edges of my vision darkened. They threatened to squeeze the life from me if I didn't give them all my coin. They swore, as they taunted me, that they knew of my rich benefactor.

"We'll let you go," the taller man promised in a menacing hiss. "If you take us to him instead."

My answer was a silent drawing of my knife, and its blade rang louder than any words I could have spoken. They left me be after that, hunched and trembling on the cracked cobblestones of the alley long after they had gone. I thought it must have been another test. But I was not brave enough to ask.

The meetings grew more frequent after that. He showed up to most every single one, his delight with me growing each time. And a span went by without anyone threatening me, or asking of him.

And _he_ asked everything of me. Despite his own secrets and mysteries, he would not hold with mine. He wanted to know of my passions. My travels. My relationships. Of how I made coin enough to survive. He questioned my lineage, tracing it all the way back to Yll. For all that, he told me little of substance in return. But he gave me money enough to eat, and cover the cost of my rooms at the Swale. He bought me fine dresses and warm leather boots for the coming winter. And every time we met, he promised he would tell me more. Just as soon as he could trust me. _Just as soon as I could play as well as I could sing,_ so I could leave my mark on the world in his name, which was still wrapped in shadow and mystery.

And in return, he promised to become the patron I needed. He would help me, support me as I traveled the four corners to sing the songs we'd write together. There would be no limitations. Not even in Vintas, where he promised to clear my name, should I wish to return. He would even be willing, he said, to help me search for my distant relatives in Yll, if I so wished. For it was so terribly sad, he'd proclaimed. A tragedy, what had happened to me. No proper young lady should go without her family. It oddly pleased me, that he considered me respectable.

Three days after we met, he brought me a lyre, and spent hours instructing me in the basics of its use. And when music began to pour from its strings rather than disjointed noise, he'd laughed in delight.

So yes, he was odd. He was mysterious, and obsessed with his privacy, and secretive in ways that intrigued me and left me burning to know more. But for all that, he was good to me. He gave me the things I needed. He gave me _hope_ again… that my life could be something more than a string of empty rooms and the long road between them. Even the promise of Yll was somewhat intriguing, though I had no delusions I would find anything worth pursuing there. So even without the clarity of his name or the answers I wished for, I was more than willing to settle for a patron like Master Ash. Especially if none better were forthcoming. Half a loaf was far, far better than none.

So I was unfailingly polite. Enthusiastic. I answered his questions, holding back what little I dared. Hoping that he would sponsor me, formally and officially as a patron was meant to, and deliver on the things he'd promised. I told him of the family I had lost. Of the Red Mare, and the men I spent time with to keep myself afloat. Of how I had nearly married Julian.

I told him near everything, save for my name. And for Kvothe.

Oh, Kvothe.

Would it have been different, if I had met with you that day instead? If the fire Deoch told me of later hadn't kept you away. I know you came back, looking for me, though the time of our meeting had passed. Deoch told me that you asked of me, with ash coating your face and your neck scorched red.

"He looked positively wretched. Poor boy limped here without his shoes. Looked like he fell off a horse," Deoch had explained helpfully.

I went looking for you after. I found you at last, at the Eolian again. But you didn't see me, Kvothe. It was her embrace you sought. Her hand you kissed. _Who is she?_ The beautiful girl who wrapped the cloak around your shoulders, with her eyes like burning silver and the midnight pieces of her hair falling across your face. Her lips close enough to yours to touch.

Did you kiss her after I slipped away? Did you spend the day with her? The night? Is she the reason there is never naught but words between us?

But what right have I got… to ask this of you? I have held the hands and hearts of more men than I can count. And you are free to hold hers. It is not a betrayal. You've never asked, after all, to hold mine.

Still, I wish we could have talked before Ash spirited me away from Imre once again. There was a wedding, up near some town called Trebon in the north. Perfect, Ash had insisted, for my fledgling skills. And he should like to see what I could do. I wasn't sure that I was ready, but how could I refuse?

I wish dearly that I had found you. If nothing else, I would have valued your advice. But you had vanished as surely as if you had taken lessons in disappearing from me. Perhaps you were spending the time in rooms that weren't your own. But I will not think of it.

I climbed to your window, Kvothe, as you had shown me. It was terrible fun. Not like climbing down had been after I found your empty room.

 _I hope you do not mind me borrowing paper and ink enough to leave this note,_ I'd written on one of the few sheets I'd found on your desk. A _s you are not playing downstairs, or peacefully abed, a cynical person might wonder what you are doing at this late hour, and if you are up to no good. Alas, I shall have to walk back home tonight without the comfort of your escort or the pleasure of your company. I missed you this Felling past at the Eolian, but though denied your company, I had the good fortune to meet someone quite interesting. He is a quite singular fellow, and I am eager to tell you what little I can of him. When next we meet. I currently have rooms at the Swan and Swale (Swail?) in Imre. Please call on me, before the 23rd of this month, and we will have our lunch, belated. After that I will be about on my business._

_Your friend and apprentice housebreaker, Denna_

But you never showed. And three days later, I boarded a barge with the ticket Ash had left for me, and let it carry me upriver. To Trebon.


	29. Something Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may be particularly triggering. All warnings listed in the tags.

The night was filled with the sounds of revelry. The air heavy with drunken cheers and torn pieces of song that drifted into the pitch-black sky. Atop Barrow Hill, which housed the Mauthen farm, crackling flames ate into the night from the giant blazing bonfire. Shapes danced around it, the glow of the fire occasionally catching their faces or pieces of cloth as they spun around it in a growing frenzy. The bride's dress was glaringly bright even when it fell into shadow.

My hands moved swiftly across the lyre, my fingerings as quick as I dared. And the revelers moved faster still, spinning more wildly, as if the dance was a hunger fueled by my budding song. The bride shrieked in drunken delight as she tripped over the hem of her dress. But the groom caught her, lifting her up with a laugh before she tumbled to the ground. And round and round they went. I fumbled a fingering of _Copper Bottom Pot_ and sang the words louder to drown it out. They seemed not to notice. They were too far gone with drink by then, the orderly dances of early evening lost to this shrieking madness. Over their shouts and laughs, and the crackling flames, I was surprised they could hear me at all.

I finished the song with a flourish and lowered the lyre, glancing sideways at the bride's oldest uncle as I shook out my hands. In unspoken agreement, he lifted his fiddle to rest against his chin and struck up a light jig. There were approving cheers from the crowd, and the circle around the fire grew more boisterous in response to the folksy tune.

Tehlu blacken, they didn't need me at all. Master Ash had secured my employment at this wedding, but there had been ample entertainment even without my fledgling attempts at the lyre. Still, the variety was nice.

I stood, stretching lightly, before making my way to the farmhouse. It was a fine structure, especially for a farm so far out from the town. The lower walls were made of solid stone, strong enough to withstand a century of time. And the inside was a wonder to behold. The lower level was wide and airy, though at present it was filled with several tables set with half empty glasses and the remains of what had been a meal fit for kings. Mauthen had skimped on nothing for his daughter. I supposed that was one way to show a father's love.

The space was dim, lit mostly by the flickering stubs of candles that had glowed with life some hours ago. The whole room had been flooded with light then, sunset rays painting the space with gold as they spilled in from the tall glass windows that adorned the walls. And the candles had been merely an afterthought. Now, their soft light bounced against the pitch black of the glass, making the night seem darker than ever.

I stepped lightly toward the windows and squinted outside, laying my palm against the cool glass. Black night stared back at me, broken only by the distant glow of the bonfire. My reflection watched me, its edges soft, as if they were gathering out of darkness. I brushed my hands through my artfully curled hair, tracing the edges of Calia's comb before letting my hand drop to my side.

What had I expected to see? Even if Master Ash was out there, I would never find him. Not until he wished me to. I had thought the wedding had personal ties to him. Old Man Mauthen certainly seemed rich enough to be acquainted. I couldn't imagine why Ash would send me here to test my skills after prepping me so extensively and never show, but I knew better than to seek him out or ask if anyone had seen him. He wouldn't like that at all. And then it wouldn't matter how perfectly I'd looked or played, because I would have ruined everything by betraying his privacy. His _trust_. I wasn't fool enough for that. If this was another test, I wouldn't risk it. The promise of his patronage was _all_ I had.

I lowered the lyre to the floor and turned away from the window, pouring myself a glass of wine from the nearest carafe. They would expect me back at it shortly. And if they were all so drunk they could barely stand straight, surely it wouldn't hurt to have a glass or two on their behalf. If anything, it was likely to augment my musical talents.

I was just reaching for the wine again when I felt the metal against my wrist grow cold. I gasped, dropping the carafe, and it shattered with a loud crash, the wine seeping across the rough stone floor at my feet. I whirled around in a panic, but the farmhouse was empty. No one had seen. _Tehlu_. I chided myself. It wasn't the first time Ash had signaled me this way. I would have to get used to it soon if I meant to put up with him.

It was only a little magic, after all. Just the smallest bit. Nothing dark about it.

I pushed back the sleeve of my dress, my eyes drawn to the bracelet. It was a simple circlet of dim copper. Entirely unobtrusive. Really, there was nothing special about it. Except that at present it seemed to be wrought from ice rather than metal. The cold snaked up my arm as I brushed my fingers against it, the chill seeping into my skin until I began to shiver. I turned and hurried out of the house.

_Master Ash was calling._

It wasn't the first time. It had been nearly a span ago when he decided that there should be a signal between us. A way for him to easily and privately call me when he needed to.

"It's a simple little thing," he'd said, sitting down beside me in the dim room of the inn he had chosen for the occasion. We had stayed there so briefly that I couldn't even remember its name. "I can fashion a bracelet for you that would allow you to find me."

"Why not send a note?" I'd asked. "You have done it thus far."

"And involve more people in our arrangement?" He stood, pacing the room. " _I thought you understood._ I have made this clear enough. Each person involved in our affairs puts us at risk. And it isn't just my doings that ought to remain private. What if they find out of _you_ , my dear? Of your past? What if they turn you in to the constables for murder? No, we can't risk it, can we?"

"I suppose not," I said softly in agreement, though Renere was half a world away, its hold on me worn thin by time.

"So you will wear the bracelet."

"But how will a bracelet help?"

"Just a little bit of magic. Do you know of magic, my dear?"

I shook my head. "No. We didn't hold with such things in Vintas."

"Of course," he agreed good-naturally, pausing by the window. He peered down at the street below. "Your silly Vintish superstitions. Well, it's nothing to be alarmed about. The theory is… Well"— he turned, shrugging —"it's complicated. Suffice to say, this bracelet will lead you to me, my dear. When I should have need of you, the metal will grow cold. Instantly." He smiled. "You simply can't miss it."

"But how will I find you? Will the bracelet tell me where to go?"

"Clever, clever girl." He stepped away from the window. "Yes, yes, the cold will be directional. So it will guide you straight to me. It will pull you here." He stepped to my left. "Or here." He slipped around me, running a hand lightly across my arm before pausing on my right. "Like a compass."

I said nothing, trying to imagine such a thing. It seemed impossible. Dark forces. I shivered slightly. But that was the sort of thing Kvothe was studying, wasn't it? At The University. _Magic_.

"Each person I hold in close confidence absolutely must have a bracelet," Ash added softly. "There is simply no other way to ensure confidentiality. If you can't get past your fear of magic, then I'm afraid—"

"I can get past it," I said quickly. "It's no problem at all. I'll wear the bracelet."

"Good." He smiled. "Very good. Then, I'll just need one thing from you. A drop of blood, if you would be so kind."

" _Blood?_ " I repeated, shocked. "That sounds horribly crass. Why—"

"To attune it to you, you understand? That is simply how the magic works. Or the bracelet won't react with your skin. Otherwise, imagine, my dear, if you lose it. Anyone could find it. Anyone at all. And then what would we do?"

"But it just seems—"

"Do you trust me, Denna?" And he paused in his pacing, meeting my gaze. His eyes looked black as pitch in the dim light. I glanced away, unsettled.

I wasn't entirely sure that I did. But I needed him, and that was much the same thing. In the span I'd known him, he had been nothing but generous, so long as I was willing to put up with his oddities. Respect his privacy. Not ask for his name. I surely knew a thing or two about keeping secrets myself. And how much could one drop of blood hurt? I had bled much worse before.

Ash had called me in such a manner twice since gifting me the finished bracelet, leading me out into an empty field and then a dense forest on the outskirts of Trebon. Each time, he had praised me, applauding my swift arrival. It would not do to break that streak tonight.

I paused outside the farmhouse, closing my eyes and focusing on the ring of ice that seemed to have encased my arm. It was far colder where it brushed the bony knob of my wrist. I turned to the right and hurried in that direction, feeling the ice shift until it lined up with the center of my hand, where it grew steadily colder as I walked, until some irrational part of me worried that my hand would turn to ice. It was a foolish thought, of course. My hand had never turned to ice before.

I found him leaning against the barn. He was wearing a dark cloak, the color indiscernible in this light. I would have mistaken him for a shadow, had his hair not been so perfectly white.

"There you are, my dear Denna," he said pleasantly, and the ice in my wrist receded as suddenly as it had come.

I nodded in greeting, rubbing gently at my hand. "I was worried you wouldn't come."

"Nonsense," he said. "I've been watching you play. Wonderful progress, my dear. Walk with me."

He turned, heading towards the woods. I fell into step beside him.

"They may expect me back soon."

"I wouldn't worry about that," he said easily, which was fine with me. He was the one I needed to impress.

"What did you play?" he asked conversationally as we reached the outer edge of the trees. "I'm afraid I didn't catch all of your songs, my dear."

" _Pennywhistle_ ," I began, listing all I remembered of my catalog. " _Come Wash in the River. Copper Bottom Pot._ _Blacksmith's Daughters_. Ah, a drunk grandfather asked for _Aunt Emme's Tub_ —"

"Did he now?" Ash laughed and steered me further into the trees. "Who was there?"

"The entire Mauthen family," I said. "Aunts, uncles, cousins. Three grandparents. Several people from town. A nephew from over in Temfalls."

"How many people attended?"

His questions had fallen into a familiar rhythm. One I'd come to associate with his tests. Perhaps he was testing my memory this time. I closed my eyes for a second, visualizing the hall.

"Twenty-six."

"What did they look like?"

"The bride was blonde," I began. "Perfect white dress. She had her hair halfway up and wore a crown of flowers. The groom…"

He let me talk for fifteen unbroken minutes as I listed every detail from my memory, down to the uncle who had clearly not bathed in two days and found himself without a shoe halfway through the ceremony. I had just started on the drunken grandfather who tried to rope me into a dance by grabbing hold of my lyre midsong, when Ash suddenly held up a hand to silence me.

" _Do you hear that?_ "

"What?" I paused, cocking an ear. "No, I…" And then I heard it. Just the faintest trace of a scream. Easily soft enough to be mistaken for the wind. My skin broke out in gooseflesh. " _Is it coming from the farm?_ "

"Wait here," Ash said, already turning back toward the hill we'd left behind. "I'll go have a look."

"I'll come with you." My hand slipped automatically to the knife strapped against my hip. "You might need help."

"No," he said firmly, shaking his head. "It could be dangerous. And you, my dear, are my responsibility. _Stay here._ "

And he hurried off before I could reply, vanishing in the time it takes to draw a breath, his cloak indistinguishable from night's darkest shadows.

I waited in silence, my eyes drifting to the trees that stretched into the sky like skeletal shadows. Around me, the wind picked up, blowing my hair around me and filling my nose with the scent of decaying leaves. Time stood still. I counted my breaths, waiting. All was quiet. Then, suddenly, a scream rent the night, loud and terrified and unmistakable. It cut off quickly, as if it had been forced to silence. But not before more followed.

I gasped, wrapping my arms across my chest as I turned slowly on the spot. Around me, everything was shadow, the forest dark and looming. Lit only by the silver moonlight that filtered through the trees. The branches were claws, reaching for me.

_What was out there?_

I stepped back, still staring into the empty darkness. Brambles crunched beneath my feet.

Tehlu, _what was happening?_ What should I do?

The wind shifted, and suddenly I smelled something distinct and acrid and painfully familiar. _Smoke_.

_There was a fire at the farm._

Cold stole through me, chilling me down to my bones. My hands began to shake, and I took a fumbling step back. I drew in a breath, and it felt like I was swallowing cinders. The hot air lodged in my throat, leaving me coughing, and my hands shook harder.

 _Help… I should run for help._ But the town was a good hour away on foot. And I wasn't sure how to get there from where I stood. Especially in the dark. I'd be likely to break my neck before I made it out to the road.

" _Kist!_ " I gasped, drawing back against the nearest tree. If the fire spread here… and all the guests. The happy couple, and the children, and— Tehlu blacken, _my patron_. He'd run off to help. He was an old man. And fire was relentless. I had seen the empty earth it left behind.

I cursed, whirling around again. The darkness seemed to press on me. It was suffocating. _I couldn't do it._ I couldn't stand here in this forest with the acrid taste of smoke filling my mouth and my eyes swimming with the memory of my grandparents burning at Father's hand. And wait for the fire to take me, too. I had to do something. _I had to find Ash._

I took a steadying breath and hurried back toward the farm, slipping and sliding over roots and rocks jutting out from the shadowy ground. My breaths grew sharp and painful as they strained against the tightness in my chest. And as I drew closer, I heard the distant chorus of screams. Tehlu, I hoped they were running for it. I hope they weren't trying to save the farmhouse at the expense of their own lives.

The smoke thickened as I pushed ahead through low hanging branches and underbrush, the forest turning hazy around me. The wind seemed to sting my skin as it blew past in gentle drifts, making my eyes water. The screams grew quieter. Fading. There was a bluish tint seeping into the air now, like the sky takes on after the sun has set but before night has truly fallen. It seemed to grow brighter with every step, giving me light by some cruel compromise. I would have thought it should be orange. But perhaps it was the moonlight stealing its hue.

I was nearing the farm, the path beneath my feet growing increasingly familiar. The tall willow tree. The large rock. I remembered passing these things just a short while ago, stopping beneath the canopy with Master Ash as we talked. There had been no sign of him. I hoped I wasn't too late.

I scrambled up the last small bluff that separated me from the farm and froze, staring ahead at the outline of Barrow Hill in the distance. I could see the fire dancing along its ridge. The farmhouse was alight with flames, a bright beacon in the darkness.

But the fire… _was blue._

I stared, uncomprehending, my breaths coming hard and heavy and my eyes streaming. _Tehlu hold me, it was blue._

I had never seen anything like it. It swirled along the walls and roof of the farmhouse. The entire barn was a burning ball of blue flame. The ground was dotted with it, and it rose in a tall blue pillar where the bonfire had glowed orange only a short hour ago. It was unnatural. _Magic_ , a voice whispered inside me. Something horrible and dark had ravaged this wedding. _Something that shouldn't be._ And around me, silence lay thick and heavy, broken only by the crackling of flames. The whisper of the wind. And the distant clanging of metal.

That was when I saw the shadows, shapes outlined against the blue of the flames. The glint of a sword, blue beneath the strange, unearthly flames.

I let out a wordless cry and backed away, nearly falling in my haste to retreat down the bluff. My eyes frozen to the strange blue fire and the long metal swords. And then something grabbed my shoulder, hard. I screamed, and a hand was clapped over my mouth, forcing me to silence. The hands pulled me roughly around and I found myself face to face with Ash.

"I told you to stay!" he hissed, sounding angrier than I had ever heard him. He was a shadow, with his hood pulled over his head. If he hadn't grabbed me, I would have never seen him. I breathed in relief.

"I smelled the smoke. I had to find you."

"You should have stayed away." His voice was hard. "You shouldn't have come here."

"What happened? The others at the wedding—"

"They're dead." His voice was expressionless.

"No," I gasped. I took a stumbling step back. "That can't…"

"They were attacked." He grabbed my arm again and pulled me deeper into the forest, beating the brush away with his cane. "Men with swords cut them all down. They set the fire. I saw it happen. By the time I arrived, there was nothing left to…" He trailed off, sounding pained.

"Oh my God," I whispered, my legs threatening to give way beneath me. " _All of them?_ "

"Yes." He pulled at my arm again, hurrying me along. "I barely slipped away without being seen. We must go."

"We need to get help," I managed. "The constables in the town—"

"We can't do that." He stopped, turning to face me. Just an outline in the darkness. I could barely see his face. "It's too late, do you understand? They're _gone_."

"How could you know that?" I whispered, unbelieving. "There might still be—"

"Listen to me, Denna," he said softly. "There are six men there still, with swords. Wielding magic darker than you can possibly imagine. And Trebon is over an hour away on foot. _There's nothing you can do._ "

I glanced away, my eyes stinging again. I blamed the smoke. But I knew the truth of it. This is what came of magic. This was the darkness Father had warned of. All the people I'd just broken bread with not three hours past, _dead_. It was too much. I stepped away, trying to orient in the darkness.

"Where are you going?"

"Trebon," I whispered. "Where else is there?"

He looked at me for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. "And how," he said finally, "will you explain why you're still alive?"

"What?" I whispered blankly.

"Think about it," he breathed. "An entire wedding party slaughtered. _Blue fire._ And you, my dear, a perfect stranger, untouched. Ringing the alarm? _They will blame you for it._ They will call you a witch and ready a hanging."

"That can't be," I managed. "They wouldn't—"

" _Of course they would._ Foolish humans that they are. Mark me, not one has stepped fifty miles outside Trebon. They don't take kindly to strangers in these parts."

"But the men! The men with the swords."

"Are you imagining they will stick around for an after party?" His voice was incredulous. "They will be gone as soon as they have achieved their purpose. _Listen_. It is already quiet."

And when I strained my ears for the sounds of distant swords, I heard nothing. Just the slight roar of the fire, and the song of the forest at night. They had likely slipped away. Were gone already. We were lucky they hadn't come upon us in the forest where we stood, making far more noise than was wise.

"So we just leave?" I whispered heavily, the truth of it bitter in my mouth. "Run?"

I had looked out for myself for more years than I could count. Had stolen, and lied, and taken far more than I deserved. But it had never felt so wrong as in that moment. The weight of twenty-six souls hungs on my shoulders, heavy as Tehlu's iron chains.

He turned away from me, pacing the small clearing where we had found ourselves. "I'm afraid it isn't that simple. I haven't been here in any official capacity, but they've seen _you_. You stayed in town. Folk know you were here for the wedding. If they find the bodies and you're missing…" He trailed off, the implication heavy enough unspoken. I could already imagine it, the scenario playing out exactly as he said. Still, I thought we could outrun them. Surely, they wouldn't search me out as far south as Imre. Or Tarbean.

"We can avoid town," I suggested. "We can take a barge downriver at first light. Or we could get horses, and—"

He shook his head. "They won't wait until tomorrow. They will have seen the fire. Smelled the smoke. And if you're found trying to leave in the quiet, it will look that much worse. They'll have caught you red-handed."

I cursed. The dark around me seemed to get thicker. Heavier. As if the air had turned to stone. "What then? You brought me here. You can't take me away? Vouch for me?"

" _You know that I can't._ "

"Why?" My voice rose in angry spirals and I lowered it abruptly, terrified it would carry to the hill in case anyone remained. Still, I wanted answers. If there was ever a time for Ash to be honest with me, it was now. " _Why can't you?_ "

The look he gave me was unreadable. "You know that I can't tell you that. _Not yet._ "

"So you would leave me here?" I said coldly. "Leave me to hang?"

"What you're asking for will not help you." His voice held an angry quiet. "Even if I showed myself, they would still think you a witch. A whore, hell-bent on magic. And me a demon. _They will hang us both._ I cannot stop them, nor the iron law."

The words cut me. Was that all he thought of me, too? _Was a whore all I'd ever be?_ I slowly raised my hands to my face. They smelled of earth and iron, and trembled far more than I'd allowed. I forced them into fists.

_How did I get here?_

I wished I had never done it. Come here. Agreed to this. Taken the bracelet in exchange for my blood. " _Just a little bit of magic,"_ he'd called it. Well I had meddled, and now the world was burning blue.

This is what came of reaching. Of trying to take more than the world wanted to give. I should have stayed in Imre where I belonged. The things I'd had there were small, but they were mine. My coins. My choices. My small moments with Kvothe, that made it easier to breathe between the dark nights.

And now blue fire raged all around me. All the roads before me ablaze and my choices narrowed down to strips. It was closing in, its flames reaching for me. And no matter where I stepped, I'd burn.

"There is another way," Ash said quietly, breaking the silence. "Something to ensure your innocence."

"And what's that?" I said acidly. "Should I beat myself bloody? Find a sword to run through my arm before hobbling up the hill to mysteriously awaken in the arms of my savior? Perhaps I'll marry him after, like in one of those fairy tales."

He chuckled. "Quite a fantasy. But you, my dear, are far too clever by half." And every piece of me went cold.

I shook my head. " _No_. I can't do that. I won't."

"It is better to bleed a little and live than give your life for nothing." His dark eyes held mine, his gaze unbending.

"There has to be another way." Another way through the fire. Somewhere it couldn't reach.

He shook his head. "Not if you wish to retain your innocence and freedom. If you're imagining they won't look for you in Imre, you're wrong. This is too big for a town like Trebon. If you run, the entire Commonwealth will be lost to you. No more evenings in Imre, my dear. Or winters in Tarbean. " He shrugged. "And I can't say I have much use for a musician who can't go where I please."

I turned away, cursing bitterly in silence. He was right. Of course he was. They had my description. They would alert the authorities. I would be the perfect scapegoat. And the music capital of the four corners would be the first place they'd look. The ring of fire around me seemed to narrow, tendrils of blue flame creeping up my skin. They felt like ice.

I could walk away from this. I didn't need Ash. I could make my own way as I had always done. But I thought of leaving the Commonwealth. _Of leaving Kvothe._ And the blue fire reached straight into my heart, freezing it solid.

I couldn't do it.

Even without him, the Commonwealth was the only place I felt safe. The only place that felt like a piece of home. Bitter tears stung my eyes, but I forced them away. It was a long time since I'd believed crying would solve the problems of the world. I knew the truth of it now. Everything had a price. And it was time to pay up.

I turned back to Ash, icy resolve stealing through me. What was pain, after all? I had been hurt before.

"You'll have to do it."

"Are you sure?" he asked softly.

I nodded. "It would never look convincing if I did it to myself. But after this, you and I are done. I can't say _I_ have much use for a patron who can't even stand by me." I reached for the bracelet on my wrist, pulling at the clasp.

He stepped closer to me, until he was just inches away. His coal-black eyes looked coldly into mine, and his hand closed firmly over my wrist, freezing me in place. "Are you _sure_ that's what you want, my dear?"

"Yes," I bit out. "I've been just fine on my own. I don't need anyone."

"Fine?" he repeated. "You're running from man to man, barely making enough to get by. Your music being wasted. _I can help you._ I can make your songs so famous, the singers will sing of _you_."

"Is this what you call helping?" I asked bitterly, and I pulled back on my arm, trying to free it from his grasp. "Go ahead. Hit me."

He held on, his grip clawlike, and leaned closer to me. "I can help you find your _father_."

A sliver of cold shot through my chest. "My father's dead."

He shook his head. "He isn't. Nor your grandparents. They got out. _Do you understand?_ They didn't die in the fire."

I stared at him blankly. My mouth opened, but I could find no words. None at all. Somewhere deep in my chest, my heart shattered into a hundred pieces, all of them lodging in my ribcage. Like tiny knives.

"They made it out," he repeated, his voice placating. "They're alive. I can help you find them."

"Did— did you… know them?"

I couldn't understand. Couldn't reconcile the feelings of shock and sadness that swarmed me. Grandmother and Grandfather alive? _Father_ alive? A flash of joy, and then a sea of grief sweeping me under. How could I ever forgive him?

" _How?_ "

"I can't tell you how I know. But it _is_ the truth. I told you. No respectable girl should be without her family." The words felt like a cruel jest now, but still they chained me in place. I couldn't seem to move. My arm had grown numb beneath his stony grip.

"I'll help you find yours," he pressed, "if you help me. _That_ will be our arrangement."

I drew in a painful breath, trying to dispel the cold shock that gripped me. I should turn away. Let this go and wash my hands of it. Walk away from Ash. But I _couldn't_. If there was even a shred of truth to it. Tehlu, I had to know.

"What if they don't believe I'm innocent?" I whispered finally through numb lips. "Even after all that. What if they hang me anyway?"

"That will not happen. I _will_ intervene if things go bad." He let go of my arm at last, brushing a hand softly along my cheek. "You have far too much living left to fall before the iron law now, my dear. Miles left to walk. Why"— he chuckled —"you have yet to find true love. The sort of man who'd lay down his life for you. Walk through death's door beside you. No, you will not hang for this. When it's over, find me. I will be waiting. And together, we will find your family. In due time." He smiled, and the way the blue light glanced off his teeth while casting his face in shadow made him look demonic. I was making a deal with the devil.

I only hoped I wasn't selling my soul.

I nodded. "I'll find you."

"Good girl. Now, if you want me to do this, you must ask me. _I need you to be sure._ "

"Hit me," I whispered for the last time.

And he did.

His fist crashed hard against the left side of my face, the impact echoing through me in tremors, and Calia's comb went flying somewhere in the dirt. I let out a choked cry, falling to my knees as black dots flashed across my vision, and the world spun. He roughly grabbed my arm and dragged me back to my feet, then flung me against the nearest tree. My shoulder and side crashed into it with a shocking amount of force. It knocked the air from my lungs, not leaving me with breath enough to cry out. A fire snaked through my ribs, squeezing my chest when I gasped for air. I thought they had surely broken. It was pain beyond anything I had ever felt, and I thanked Tehlu for the dimming light. For the escape of unconsciousness, surely drawing nearer.

" _Fight me!_ " he commanded, grabbing hold of my dress and shaking me roughly, until the back of my head hit the tree and I tasted the metallic tang of blood. Everything darkened. Ash's face before mine was blurry, melting into the black that surrounded it. "No one will believe you didn't ask for it otherwise!"

Through my haze of pain, I lifted my arm and pushed weakly at his chest.

" _Harder!_ "

I made a trembling fist, aiming for his chin in the gathering darkness. He grabbed my arm and pushed it back, twisting it. "I saw them do it like this," he said flatly in explanation, and something sharp sliced into my arm. I screamed, and pain shot through my chest, as if my lungs had been shredded to pieces against my ribs. My cheek was pressed against the cool grass before I realized I had fallen.

"They would've never believed it if you hadn't been cut," he said softly from somewhere far above me, and I saw the glint of a knife, blue in the strange light before it all fell to black.

* * *

There was a flash of sky, lit up with streaks of blue. And pain echoing through my ribs in rhythm. I was being carried. I wondered how he could hold me, so firmly with both hands. Didn't he need his cane?

He hadn't needed it when he hit me.

And then the ground, meeting me painfully. Echoing through me as it grasped and held me. I tasted charred earth. The air smelled of fire and iron and burning. And the wind screamed.

"Good luck." Ash's face hovered above me. He brushed a strand of my hair, ever so gently, letting it fall across my cheek. And then his face recedeed, fading into the dark.

I lifted my head, forcing my trembling body to move, and my eyes trailed across the shapes of bodies lying prone beside me. Clothes stained in red. A delicate hand, its torn fingers still adorned with a ring of crystal. Behind the mangled body of the bride, the bonfire still stretched into the sky. Its flames were blue, like the ones clawing up the farmhouse in the distance.

Were the fires of hell blue, too?

_Tehlu, I was so cold._

I closed my eyes, refusing to see anything but the darkness, and let my face fall back against the earth. The wind picked up, replacing the smell of charred flesh with the musky scent of soil, and I felt drops of water hit my face. Seep into my clothes. It was raining.

At least I wouldn't burn alive along with this wretched farm.

I lay there in the black until I lost count of the time, feeling the blood dripping slowly from the gash in my arm. It trailed along my wrist, mixing with the rainwater before finding its final resting place among the ashes of the burnt ground. They stuck to my bare skin, coating my arms like thousands of dandelion seeds.

It was easier to pretend they were simply flowers. That I was laying in a field of daisies. I wasn't torn or bleeding. Or cold. I thought of Kvothe and smiled just a bit, and let the darkness take me.

* * *

It was pain that woke me. The torture of rough hands digging into the shredded flesh of my arm. The shocking cold of my soaked dress pressing against me. I gasped, and my entire body trembled.

"This one's still alive!"

There were hurried footsteps. Ragged breaths drawing nearer. Behind the unfamiliar faces, I could see the moon, painfully bright. The sky had faded to black. I let my eyes fall closed. The darkness was easier to stomach than the broken anger on their faces.

"Is it Olivia?"

"No." The man's voice was bitter. "A stranger."

There was a silence, and the rough creak of wooden wheels struggling against uneven ground.

"Take her back to town."

Rough hands lifted me from the scorched earth. The pain shot through me in sharp waves, slicing into my arm and chest. Fading to a distant numbness. The rough wood beneath my head felt terribly far away. And then, for a final time, the darkness took everything. And all was empty quiet at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cannon as this moment is, it was difficult to write, and I'm sorry it had to be there. My heart breaks for D. After all this time, all she wants is to find a little piece of love. The next chapter will be the last one. Thank you guys so much for sticking with D so far. I'm happy to have walked this road with D. And with all of you.


	30. Only Always

It's bright.

The sun burns like a thousand flaming spears. My eyes flutter and water, and even when I close them, I can't find peace in the dark. My eyelids are burning with red. And there is a fire in my throat. My mouth is full of cotton, and a thirst so unbearable it feels like I have not drunk a drop of water in days and I am on the edge of dying.

I moan and shift away from the light, burying my face in soft earth. It smells like Mother's garden after a heavy rainfall, and though my eyes are closed, I _see_ the dark richness of the soil, full of minerals and nutrients and the water that fell from the sky. My mouth is dry and brittle as the desert. I bring my lips to the damp ground, but the soil tastes only like dirt.

I spit it out, and push myself away from the earth, chancing another look into the sun. Everything in my body aches and burns, as if the very fabric of me is torn and shredded. But the light is more forgiving. There is cool stone behind me. A forest stretching out ahead.

Why am I here?

 _They were taking me to town. Or did I dream it?_ No, there is a bandage on my throbbing arm. Right where he cut me. But the dress I wear isn't my own. It isn't familiar. And then I see the waterskin. The fallen bundle of a blanket beside me. _I remember._

"Kvothe." My voice is a croak, my tongue stumbling over my unbreakable thirst. I reach for the waterskin and twist off the cap with fumbling fingers. The water is barely cool, but it feels like the breath of life. It spills down my chin as I gulp it down madly, until the thirst finally abates.

I look around. Our things are scattered around me. I was sure we had gone to sleep atop the stones, but now I sit at their base, beside the remains of what had once been our campfire. The earth is rutted and torn to pieces. The _draccus!_

But no, it isn't there.

"Kvothe!" I call again, and my voice sounds like something familiar now. Almost human. But the only answer is silence and the hum of the forest. Distant birdsong.

I climb unsteadily to my feet, closing my eyes for the space of a breath as the world tilts and darkens at the edges. Then I look out, across the unbroken forest. All green and brown, with not a speck of fiery red.

"Kvothe…" I try again, but softly this time. No matter how loudly I call his name, I know he won't hear. The hilltop where I stand feels much too empty to hold another human soul. He's gone.

He's left, just like everyone has left before him. And there's no answer that would be enough… to ask why.

I close my eyes and think of how he found me. How he walked into that drab room at the godforsaken inn where they left me, bandaged and clothed and all but a prisoner, and spirited me away. Like some gallant hero straight out of a faerie story, appearing before me in my moment of greatest need. I had never, _never_ believed in faerie tales before. Life has long since served me nothing but tragedy. But Trebon was both.

It's cathartic to relive the day we spent together. To imagine it, moment by moment, though it hurts. Walking away from that inn, together. Our easy banter. Stumbling through the remains of Mauthen's farm. He'd seemed so delicate when the water pump had broken. As if his entire world had shattered with it. But he never voiced what it was that tugged at his heart. And I held far too many secrets of my own. Far too many hurts to press him.

Instead, I had pulled him along into the forest. I intended to find Ash. I searched for him. In the town. In the fields and valleys and tree glades. But he left no traces. _Nothing_. He told me to find him, but the bracelet on my wrist had spoken true in its silence. No colder than a breath of summer wind.

Perhaps I knew it deep down even then, that Ash had no plans to find me. He was just like every other man I'd ever known. Using me. Leaving me when I was no longer needed. Beating me bloody had been his reward. I had seen that much in his eyes last night. And I was a fool.

Still, I had searched. With Kvothe beside me, his eyes the shade of spring and his hair afire. Walking with me, until he grew far bigger than the space that Ash had left behind.

Oh, walking through the forest, breaking bread together… It was the most time we'd spent in each other's company since Roent's caravan. And by the time we reached the hilltop where I stand, even the lure of Ash's promise didn't seem so strong.

And now, Kvothe is the one who's a ghost.

I move gingerly, thumbing through the various belongings scattered on the grass. Both blankets are here. The meager remains of our food. Kvothe's spare shirt is crumpled at the base of the greystones. I pick it up, my fingers running along the rip in its shoulder. It's the shirt he was wearing yesterday, when we'd run from the draccus and found ourselves in that denner refinery. And I realize: _the denner resin is gone._

Kvothe has taken it.

I sit down heavily on the grass and stare into the sky. It's all gone. Everything we planned to bring to the apothecary for a tidy profit. Has he used it _all_ to kill the draccus like we planned? Or has… has he taken it for himself? I hate myself for the question. I have told myself so many times that Kvothe is different. I have felt it in my bones. He wouldn't abandon me. Wouldn't use me, as everyone else has done. He never has before. I think of what he did for me just yesterday. I owe him my _life_. But the draccus isn't here, dead or alive. And Kvothe isn't either. And the denner is gone.

_How could he leave me?_

The thought is bitter. Caustic as it burns through me, surging higher than any explanations I can muster. I remember the fear in his eyes when I stupidly bit into that disc of charred denner yesterday. They had paled, turning the color of frost, even after he'd stuffed me full of charcoal. I _know_ that fear was real. He watched over me, kept me alive, safe from the monster that took Father from me.

Or is Father alive too?

But they're all gone. Ash. Kvothe. The drug-addicted dragon we'd meant to murder for the greater good.

"Tehlu blacken," I whisper bitterly, bringing my hands to my eyes. I hate myself for this weakness. For the damp skin beneath my fingertips. I have made it on my own so many times before. With all the lessons life has taught me, why do I still allow myself the luxury of hope? There is no weight to empty words. In the stark light of day, I know with perfect clarity that I will only ever be alone. Always.

And it's easier that way. It's all I can expect.

All I deserve.

I climb slowly to my feet and step away from the stones. I'm cold and hungry, and Trebon is somewhere beyond the forest and hours away. I have nothing but the clothes on my back. Everything I owned in the four corners burned in that damn wedding. The lyre. My cloak and dresses. _Calia's papers._ Even her comb is gone. I don't have so much as two coins to rub together. But I leave the remains of Kvothe's things where they are. The water he left me was already far too much, and I will owe him nothing. Everything else I will make up along the way.

_Damn them all._

Damn Ash and his promises. Damn Kvothe and his sweet words, that I once mistook for love. Damn Denna for leading me to him. _For leaving me._ Ever since she's gone, she's been the whole of my heart. Now her face is fresh enough in my mind for my eyes to swim with memory.

The wind picks up, brushing against me and sending my tangled locks flying around my face. I turn into it, letting it dry the dampness on my cheeks. I promised myself, a long time ago, that I would survive. And I will.

And Tehlu blacken, _so what if my patron is a useless prick who's vanished on me?_ So what if last night Kvothe held me close with the promise of tomorrow? He doesn't think of me that way. And I can't hold him to that. Can't fault him for it. In the end, I'm the one who's broken. I don't know _how_ to love, even if I wanted to. Not without Denna.

But I _do_ know enough to survive tomorrow on my own.

I find my way down the hill and begin the long trek toward the town. I will not step foot in it. I have seen enough of their angry faces to last a lifetime, and I have far too much bitterness in me to stand for any more.

It takes several long hours to reach the docks, and by the time I see the glistening curve of the river, it's late afternoon. I have nothing to offer for a ride downriver except myself. So I will spend the evening in the captain's quarters. And the night as well. It matters not. There is no point postponing it, after all. There will only be more of the same once I reach Imre.

It's all right.

There is the blaring sound of a horn, and the barge beneath me shudders to life, pushing away from the docks and out into the heart of the river, where the current grasps it and pulls it along. I look out at the shimmering water, glowing gold with the beginnings of sunset. At the trees that stretch beyond the riverbanks. In the distance, I can see the chimney smoke that marks Trebon rising into the darkening sky. For a bitter, vindictive moment I imagine the draccus searching out that pillar of smoke and attacking the lot of them.

But I will not waste my mind on bitter imaginings. I turn away, looking ahead at the glowing river. If Ash told me the truth, then somewhere out there, Grandmother and Grandfather may still be alive. And damn him and his disappearing act. I don't need his help. I don't need his songs. I don't need anything or anyone. I absently reach down and touch Mother's ring, twisting it around my finger. And then I let my hand trail up, until I find the copper bracelet on my wrist. I fiddle with the clasp, and there is a click. And then a lightness on my wrist as the circlet falls away. I don't hear the splash of it hitting the water. I'm too high up. Too far. But I feel a lightness seep into my chest, bringing with it a stony resolve.

If my family is out there, I will find them myself. And _that_ is a promise I intend to keep.

I smile lightly at the water and turn away as the sun begins to dip behind the far edge of the trees. It's high time to find the captain. Night is coming.

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you. Thank you for reading, and for taking this journey with D. For all who have left comments, thank you also. They do mean so much to me. This story has taken a year of my life, and now this is finally the end. Today, I will turn the page from Denna, and Tehlu that is bittersweet. I'll miss her. I've loved every moment of writing this story, even when it was painful or hard, or the words didn't come as easily. Through it all, this story wanted to be told, and I can only hope I've done it justice. But it's a story incomplete, I know.
> 
> In beginning it where it began and tying this ending to that beginning in a neat little bow, I know I've left a lot unspoken. We know that D finds Ash again, but not how or why it happens. We don't know the canon. And though it's entirely likely that Ash is indeed Cinder, and just as possible that he's set the fire in the fishery and kept Kvothe away, we don't know why he's done it. Or why he wants her. Is he, after all, trying to get to Kvothe? Or are these all coincidences — that Kvothe loves her. That the fishery, which is all but his second home, was burned that day. That it was the moment Ash chose to seek out Denna. Another coincidence? It's hard to believe in such things when Pat puts them down on paper so neatly. And we don't know what happens. D's POV is limited. Her knowledge lacking.
> 
> Perhaps it didn't happen like this at all. Perhaps there were no declarations. No moments of inner clarity. No throwing away of the bracelet that surely doesn't exist. Perhaps Ash returned to the stones after Kvothe had gone to find her, and she was already in his grasp. From that moment on. But I like to believe that he didn't. That he left her entirely until it became convenient for him to find her again, for whatever (Chandrian thing) it is he needs her for. And I've always believed that this is why, when she returned to Imre, Denna jumped from man to man like wind. She likely kept doing it until Ash's reappearance, sometime in WMF. Who can really fault her for it? And then he spirited her away… to Yll, perhaps. Then Severen. Why? The exploration of that is beyond my imagination at present, so D's story will end here. But Denna's will continue… I'll wait patiently. I hope one day we can all read it together.
> 
> Rina


End file.
